


Aegis

by Kireon



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: All The Ships, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blanket Fic, Blizzards & Snowstorms, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mood Swings, Multi, Oh my god they had one blanket between them, One Shot Collection, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), So many different moods here, Spoilers, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2020-10-25 00:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 63,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20715095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kireon/pseuds/Kireon
Summary: Two people. A blizzard. One blanket. What can possibly happen?





	1. Tomorrow Can Wait (Dimitri x F!Byleth)

**Author's Note:**

> You know it, you love it, and I'm bringing it back like bell-bottom jeans from the 60s; it's the one and only Blanket Fic Challenge starring the cast of Fire Emblem: Three Houses. It's that fic nobody asked for but I'm writing anyway. There will be varying ratings, scenarios, prompts, and pairings throughout this entire collection. It, in theory, is never-ending due to the near countless pairings we could have. Explicit content will be marked accordingly in the title so that those uninterested can skip it. Some will be multiple chapters, others strictly solo chapters.

** _Azure Moon Route  
Guardian Moon_ **

_Inspired by End of Silence's [Entropy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YJdc7O1SNDQ). _

\--

"Dimitri."

His name is the first word she has spoken in several hours. Once separated from the rest of the squalling, chattering fools. The Professor falls as easily into the type of silence that makes it easy to forget she’s even there. He begrudgingly slows his ground-eating pace and notices that her face isn’t her standard mask he both covets and detests as she focuses on something in the distant horizon. Dimitri looks and catches sight of what inspired the grimace; a distant pile of growing clouds to the north. Whatever it is, it isn’t worth slowing down-- even _ if _ something in the back of his cluttered mind grows agitated at the sight. He can’t quite put his finger on why it’s familiar or cause for alarm and ruthlessly discards it as he had everything else deemed pointless.

The weather was pointless compared to the mission at hand.

“What of it? Perhaps you have seen a vision of the Empire’s position and seek to caution us against further action?” The last part is deliberately mocking her position as Rhea’s replacement and the nigh-divinity the Church of Seiros has bestowed upon her. He catches the briefest flash of annoyance before her expression returns to what passes for normal. Good. It's petty of him but every time he makes her change expression and _ show _ something other than that ever-present mask on her face, he takes it as his victory.

Dimitri needs every victory against the Professor he can get, as the longer she stays around, the weaker and more pathetic he feels himself become.

“If you fear _ clouds _ of all things, return to the others. I have no need of someone so easily distracted.”

There’s a narrowing of her eyes and a flash of hurt. “The clouds are not the issue; what they signify _ is _.”

_Tch._ He casts a scornful look to her and turns his back on her as he has so many times before. "Keep moving. There is still daylight." He would prefer to move into night and dawn until his body no longer allowed him to delay the inevitable and sends him into the abyss. With _ her _ there, it's a good deal more difficult to do so and she allows him only so much before she takes that control away again.

There’s a blur of grey fabric and pale green hair as she nimbly picks her way around him, in spite of the steep, rocky slopes, and takes point. She doesn’t see the way he allows himself the briefest smirk at another easy victory and pretends to dutifully follow her. For as long as his body will hold out, she will continue to put herself between him and whatever she considers a threat until the threat _becomes_ himself.

They don't talk about what happens when Dimitri is his own greatest threat.

A couple hours later and even _ he _ , Northern born and raised, recognizes something is greatly amiss. The clouds above have rolled in and continue to advance at an alarming pace ahead of them and the temperature has fallen to the point he feels it keenly against what little skin he has exposed. The Professor, ever the leader, not only increases her speed, but advances up the terrain as though she were some creature who made their homes in the cliffs and ran them as easily as she breathed. He wouldn't bother noticing but for her impossibly impractical footwear and outfit ill-suited for the weather this time of year. He does enjoy watching the way her head moves, eyes quick, light, and searching from the heights for something he had no name for and, when disappointed, would grimace and move on until the next area.

She finds that elusive something half an hour later and gestures quickly for him to join her. "Here!" The wisdom in heeding the order is stronger than his urge to defy her and Dimitri is there in the next moment.

A simple structure, hardly worth the definition, sat forgotten and half-set into the western face of the hill.

Dimitri folds his arms and chooses that moment to be deliberately defiant. “What am I looking at?”

“Shelter.”

He’s almost impressed by her current dedication to one word answers. The tone she uses is the same lecturing tone he detests and implies he’s twice the fool for even having to ask. Thrice the fool since he suspects she _ knows _ he’s doing this intentionally and can’t bring herself to retaliate any other way. Can’t or won’t, he isn’t certain which but suspects the latter.

“From?” Two can play _ that _ game and he has been the entirety of the Guardian Moon. One or two word answers at best and utter contempt riddled silence at worst. The latter cuts deeper than anything else he can do and he uses it as keenly as he uses his spear in battle.

Her eyes return to the sky and her grimace returns, blatant this time, before she speaks. “Blizzard.” Green eyes fall on him, as unyielding and unwavering as can be, and stay on his face. “The kind mercenaries tell tales about.”

The little bitch just has to rub it in that she has more experience than he does in winter marches. She was serious by default, but this was a different, _ colder _ type of severity than what he’s seen in the past. If he didn’t know any better, he would say she was steeling herself for battle against a particularly formidable opponent. He looks away from her to the sky, searching for some sort of sign that she was wrong and he could call her on it.

She isn’t and it pisses him off all the more. “You cannot _ possibly _ know the severity of a storm before it comes.”

“I have done more than enough winter marches to know what I am looking at.” She insists and steps closer. “We need to prepare before it hits.”

“We _ need _ to press onward.”

“Dimitri!” A sharp rebuke made of his name sets his teeth on edge.

“Professor.” He mocks in kind and gestures toward the ramshackle stone… pile. He’d call it a hovel but even hovels were in better condition. “Bury yourself in that cairn if you so wish, _ I _ will continue on; blizzard or not.”

He brushes past her as though she is nothing more than another of the departed spirits that haunt him. He has grown accustomed to forcing himself that she isn’t there even when she’s standing directly in front of him with the kind of look on her face she had five years ago after Jeralt’s death. Five years… five disgusting long and fruitless years _ wasted _. It was better this way, Jeralt would have never tolerated such weakness out of someone of his own flesh and blood had he survived.

She grabs his arm and pulls hard enough he stops and turns his head. Her chin is set stubbornly, tucked and ready, and she’s ready to fight him on this until he’s so annoyed he gives in.

“Jeralt’s spirit must _ weep _ ; what sort of mercenary quits while they still have the advantage?” That was a cruel blade and, for once, Dimitri _ does _ regret it when he sees the look on her face. He has overheard Mercedes and Felix, of all people, discussing their concerns over the Professor’s well being and how being asleep for five years must have frozen the events in her mind to be more recent than they truly are. He tells himself It’s not his problem if she is stuck in the past; she should know better than to allow something so commonplace as _ death _ to wound her in a time of war.

He jerks his arm out of her grasp and leaves her there, deliberately turning his back to her to show his utter indifference toward the verbal barb. In truth, he wants to throw up. He is accustomed to saying cruel things and driving others away-- but there are lines he would not cross and _ this was supposed to be one of them _ . He can hear the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps and whirls. His spear is prepared for her strike and he is ready to settle this in a way that will make sure she _ never _ comes near him again.

He sees the moment her ankle rolls on her, one small misplacement of her left foot on a loose stone that gives way beneath her weight, and he would almost wince in sympathy if it weren’t for the fact that she stumbles the _ wrong damned way _ and knows it. She stumbles, trying to regain her balance and steps down too close to the fragile edge. 

It breaks beneath her her weight and sends her falling backwards with nothing to grab on to.

Her eyes meet the lone of his, wide and filled with genuine _ terror, _ as she reaches out-- it's no use trying to use the Sword of the Creator to grab on to something or pierce the crumbling mountain face-- for him. Dimitri lunges, spear forgotten, and he _almost makes it. _He feels her fingers claw at the tips of his before she goes over the ledge.

_“Byleth!”_

There is no scream he has heard, and there are _many_ from the dead and the living alike, that compares to the one she makes before she hits the ground. 


	2. Tomorrow Can Wait 2 (Dimitri x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth has 99 problems and Dimitri is only about twenty-seven of them.

_ Time to wake up, kid. _

Her father’s voice is enough to snap her back from the darkness of sleep. Significantly warmer than she should be an undetermined amount of time later, of course, and with a headache comparable to the first (and last) time she comforted Manuela after a break-up. Her eyes remain closed as she takes stock of what she knows for a fact; she’s sore as hell, nothing seems to be broken or otherwise more than bruised, and the air on her face is  _ cold _ without being the type of chill she would come to expect if she were outside. Her toes wiggle, all good and only a little twinge from her ankle when she moves her foot, fingers do the same without any pain, are good to go, and brush against something thick and soft.  


Byleth hears someone-- Dimitri-- muttering to himself and can feel the vibration against the ground from where he’s pacing back and forth nearby. It’s a struggle not to allow her face to show how she feels whenever she hears him have these one-sided conversations with the ghosts that haunt him. She allows herself to breathe again with a long and slow exhale. As much as she would prefer to pretend she was still at rest, there is much to be done and she doubts he will stay in one place for very long if she remains as she is. Sitting up is a little trickier because she’s  _ stiff _ from lying on the ground and her body protests in a way that makes her hiss.  


Good to know  _ that _ doesn’t get easier as she gets older.

It's enough to catch Dimitri’s attention and draw it immediately from his argument-- something not being his fault, he cannot be blamed for an accident or foolishness?-- and he looks as though he’s torn between attacking her outright or bolting. Her eyes narrow as the memories, bits and pieces of them, filter in from right before the fall.  


“You.” The way he says the word is filled with a mix of fear and venom. “You are  _ dead, _ are you not? You have no heartbeat. I  _ listened _ for one and I-  _ what _ are you? What manner of spirit or demon are you that I- that  _ all _ see you as though you are flesh and blood?”

Byleth’s eyes drop away from him as soon as he mentions the lack of a heartbeat. She’s never shown him Jeralt’s diary or told him about its contents. There was never time five years ago and the events with those who assassinated her father, as well as Edelgard’s sudden declaration of war and invasion of Garreg Mach had all happened so quickly she scarcely had time to  _ breathe _ much less find a way to approach someone on the topic.

“Human.” Byleth finally responds a moment later and shoves the thick fur-- Dimitri had wrapped her in his cloak at some point-- off of her and hisses again when her muscles threaten to seize up on her. It takes slow, deliberate stretches to make them cooperate with her and allow her to get to her feet. The traitorous ankle bears her weight without much complaint and she nods to herself in satisfaction. She looks around and takes stock of their surroundings with a grim sigh as the cold leeches into her once more.

The stone shelter was sufficient enough; big enough for someone of Dimitri’s tall stature to stand at his full height with about a hand length to spare and, she silently measures what she can with one critical eye even with the dim lighting. The events with Sothis left her with better eyesight than most in the dark, not completely able to see as though it were full daylight, but enough so that she’s less likely to be taken off guard. About the width of herself and Dimitri combined on all sides. Small, but not claustrophobia inducingly small. She’s squeezed into smaller spaces to ride out a few storms.

“What manner of human has no heartbeat?” He isn’t willing to let this go and she really isn’t in the mood to talk about it. She’s tired of his back and forth between remembering her as a person he onced respected and cared for and considering her a nuisance he can hardly tolerate.

“The same manner of human who has fallen off a twice damned cliff for the second time under two blasted moons and lived.” It’s a little more waspish than she intends, but it has the comedic effect of shutting him up for the moment. She bends down to feel up her legs, fingers probing against spots here and there that are still sore. “If you are quite finished, I need you to help me with something.”  


“Spirits do not require-”

“If I were a spirit, would I _ask_ for your aid rather than demand it of you?” She counters. “If you don’t want to help, say so.”

When he says nothing and doesn’t move from his side of the room, Byleth shakes her head, winces as it throbs, and continues her examination. Bruises, as she thought, and a solid lump on the back of the head. She must have landed on her side or hit rear first if she had any luck whatsoever and avoided anything more than that. Scrapes too, she felt their rough edges and knew they would sting like nothing else when she mad a moment to clean them.

Sheer luck managed to get her through this one.

“You said the second time you have fallen from the cliff.” He was either going for a different approach altogether or was waiting for another opportunity to ask the same damned question. Byleth isn't sure which but makes a show of looking at him when he speaks all the same. “When was the first? I do not remember any such report and I  _ would _ have received word from the others."

This much is true and as fond as she is of her students… very few of them are prone to secrecy. Especially as of late-- she swears she receives more 'reports' and 'concerns'  _ now _ than she did when she first became their instructor. Wasn't adulthood supposed to make them wise and capable of working through their problems with each other rather than needing an intervention from someone like her?

"Two Moons--" Byleth cuts herself off, sighs again, and corrects herself. "Five years ago at the battle of Garreg Mach."

He doesn't put the pieces together right away and stares at her. It clicks a moment or two later. "When you disappeared."

"Yes."

"Why?"  


Of all responses, that isn't one she predicted and she's a little taken aback by the question. "I don't understand."

He actually takes a step toward her, and then a second. It puts him within arm's reach without crowding either of them. "Why did you not reveal that information when you returned? Why merely wave it aside as 'sleeping'?"

_ Because you said it didn't matter. _ It's a painful thing to think and it lingers on the tip of her tongue. Byleth shakes her head. This is not the time to sink down to petty barbs and she is unwilling to play such a game that results in no victory or growth.

"Sleeping is still the closest explanation I have. I don't know what happened after I went over the cliff."

"You should have said something regardless." There's that hostility in his voice again.

She glares at him. He doesn't see her very well but she hopes he  _ feels _ the weight of her stare. "Why would knowing matter, Dimitri? It wouldn't change what happened or prevented it from happening at all."

She tried to go back. She  _ exhausted _ herself trying to go back and fix her mistakes. Like with Jeralt's death, the end result was still the same and her last sight was of Rhea, in dragon form, screaming in anguish before the sky spun and darkness claimed her.

He opens his mouth to argue further and stops. She expects him to throw another snide comment out or insult her again. Maybe call her a liar or a spirit or something else to restart the argument.

"Who is aware of the truth?"

Not the response she expects but she'll take it anyway.

"Seteth." She replies immediately.

Dimitri clicks his tongue in response and it amuses her for all of a few seconds before the damned subject comes up again. "And he is aware of what you lack?"

She turns her eyes heavenward and wants nothing more than for Sothis to be there to give her a hint as to how she should handle this. Jeralt would have been a welcome voice as well and  _ neither _ of them are there anymore. The stone ceiling gives no answers either and she gives up.

Seteth can yell at her later if he so wishes, but she isn't going to lie to Dimitri or anyone  _ else _ who notices it.

"Seteth found and read my father's journal, he is aware of it."

Apparently this isn't the answer Dimitri anticipated either. "Jeralt kept a journal?"

Byleth allows herself the slightest of smiles and nods. "Yes. I was surprised as well. So was Seteth, and presumably Lady Rhea."

She says nothing about the conversation she and the archbishop's advisor held about the contents or of his apologies and fury at what was written there. That has nothing to do with what is happening  _ now _ and everything to do with what she has to look into after the war. The less he knows about that, the better. The last thing she needs is for him to consider the Church of Seiros his enemy and declare war on them as well.

"How are you living if you have no heart?"

"I have one. It just… doesn't make a sound."

He has nothing to say to that and just stands there.  


"I have a pulse." She offers up the information both to try and placate him as well as break the uncomfortable atmosphere.

It works. "How do you lack a heartbeat yet have a  _ pulse _ ?"

"I would say ask Manuela but I'm not sure  _ I _ would even understand her answer."

Dimitri actually offers a cough that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. He and the rest of her students know all too well what the buxom songstress is like when she sets aside her theatrics and launches into her field of expertise. When serious, she gives Hanneman a run for his coin and takes the unsuspecting by surprise.

A question like that would trap him and anyone else foolish enough to ask in a several hour lecture on the anatomical workings of the human body  _ and _ a guest lecture from Hanneman himself on the impacts of Crests on it.

The silence that follows is only broken by the sound of the wind howling around them and the scrape of snow against stone as the storm rages on.  


Byleth counts the number of steps it takes her to reach one side of the room to the other-- thirteen and a half for width and a little under twice that for length-- and keeps her hands tucked against her sides for warmth.

Her seventh pass around the room results in Dimitri's heavy cloak being thrown on top of her. Its weight takes her off guard and she ends up on the ground as a result with a curse she picked up from Felix.

"Cease your pacing, it's annoying."

His arms are folded against his chest and he has his back on the wall beside the door he'd reenforced while she was unconscious. She thinks he's laughing at her in spite of the tone in his voice and finally manages to extract herself out from under the cloak.  


"Movement allows--"

"For better circulation and warms the body. It's also wasting energy you require to get out of this structure once the storm ends." He counters. "If you are cold, use the cloak."

"You need it more. I see you shivering." Byleth points that out with the same ruthless logic she always has at her disposal.

"Your fall must have rattled your sense of judgment. I am unaffected by something as pathetic as a mere storm."

Byleth makes the mistake of putting both palms against his neck to prove her point.

It's the same trick Jeralt had gotten  _ her _ with during a handful of their winter marches together. Hearing that same conversation happen with the roles reversed had her responding accordingly with icy hands to warm skin. She expects a flinch and maybe a curse-- Jeralt's response had been both the two times she had retaliated-- but not to have her legs swept out from under her and her wrists pinned.

She has second and third thoughts about her poor life choices and prepares to turn back the hands of time.  



	3. Tomorrow Can Wait 3 (Dimitri x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Not to Communicate And Wonder Why It All Goes To Shit: An Autobiography by Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.

In retrospect, Dimitri knows he has overreacted.  


The act of placing chilled hands against warm skin is a child’s game; meant to invoke a reaction and retaliation when an argument has taken place. He knows this game all too well given the number of times he did just that or had it done  _ to _ him by Felix, Ingrid, Sylvain, and Glenn. The latter most of which was the worst of the offenders even if Ingrid herself was the most merciless of them all. Managing to do it  _ to _ Glenn also gave the younger children an entirely different sort of education to study when it came to certain word combinations and descriptive language.  


In his own defense, he had not anticipated the Professor to  _ indulge _ in a moment of childish whim and put her cold hands against him. As a result, he had done what  _ anyone _ would have and took down the source in one fluid motion. He had her pinned in the way he and others once had been in happier times. There is no snow to cushion her against the hard ground, however, and he kicks himself twice for putting her at risk for further injury. Everything in him screams to release her and put distance between them at once-- she cannot be trusted and neither can he not to say or do anything more.  


He doesn’t and simply remains as he is. It is nothing to keep her small wrists held secure with one hand and the other, the glove removed with his teeth and spat out somewhere next to him, reaches down a little beneath the curve of her jaw. Two fingers press and hold against the soft-- and  _ warm _ \-- skin of her throat.

He hears as well as feels her swallow hard beneath his touch.  


It takes him a few moments and an adjustment or two before he finds what he’s looking for and feels the steady tap against his fingertips. She is not lying to him; her pulse is clear and strong in spite of what he knows now. No heartbeat but a pulse nonetheless.  


What in Fodlan’s name  _ is _ she?

Dimitri tries to make sense of the muddled information he has against what he  _ doesn’t _ know about the woman beneath him. A mercenary born to and trained by one of Garreg Mach’s greatest and most beloved knights with a nigh-unreadable face and body language, a mercenary born with a blood-soaked destiny who wielded a powerful and ancient artifact as well as a Crest long since thought to be eradicated from history, and an authority in his life who had warmly received his worries and concerns as well as that of his House with the same level of care that he would have expected from a distant family member or any of the other instructors.  


Untouchable. Undeniable. Undefeatable.

He knows what title her father’s mercenary group has bestowed upon her-- the Ashen Demon-- and has seen what  _ hearing _ such a title referenced does to her when she thinks no one is watching. Any other would think of it as something to bear proudly and ensure their reputation suits the title well and drives off any would-be challengers. It has the opposing effect on the Professor and she seems to withdraw into herself whenever it’s brought up with that look she gets whenever someone says something that hurts her yet is unwilling to call them out on it.

He knows  _ nothing _ about her but what he has seen with his own eyes-- singular eye now-- and yet she remains consistent in the ways that mattered the most to him back when he was weak and foolish.

“Your hands are  _ cold _ .” He tells her for lack of anything better to say.

He likes the way her throat moves against his fingers when she replies that his are cold as well. She also tells him he’s heavy and making it hard for her to breathe properly. He doesn’t ease up off of her, but does release her wrists even if there’s something appealing about keeping her as she is. She rubs them with a wince and flexes her fingers carefully. He must have had a little too tight of a grip and may have bruised her.

He easily snags the cloak long forgotten behind the professor and drags it over her as he rolls off. It’s almost amusing watching her disappear beneath thick, heavy fur twice as big as she is. He hears her mutter something under her breath and manages to restrain any amusement from his face as her head pops out on the other side with her light hair all askew.  


“Dimitri,” she begins and he lifts a hand, not certain as to how she can or  _ if _ she can see him do so, to silence her.

“Stay under there. You will be warmer.”

“I will not allow you to freeze in my place.” Ahh, now  _ that _ is the voice he’s accustomed to hearing as of late. Stern and leaving no room for argument. He watches her start to sit up and extract herself with a growl of annoyance.

“And what do you propose, Professor? We have  _ one _ cloak between us and nothing else. Your coat is soaked through and useless from your fall.” He pauses and remembers to add. “You landed in a spring. Shallow though it was, your coat took the brunt of impact and the water.”

He doesn’t mention that he checked her for injuries and cleaned the ones he  _ had _ managed to find without stripping her entirely. The spring was a good find and he’d filled their waterskins and then some before the storm.

“That would explain the lack of coat and the medallion I usually wear.” She replies and glances to where he did his best to hang the two aforementioned garments up on a bit of rock pounded into an unsuspecting crack. He watches her step neatly away from the cloak and reach for the Sword of the Creator, the blade springing to life beneath her hand and casting the room in orange light. She sets it next to her, interestingly enough, and the weapon does not cease its light so long as it's within a certain distance of its wielder.  


“Stay beneath the cloak.” Dimitri returns to the argument instead of commenting on the blade’s use as an overly ornate lantern.  


“No.” Back to one word answers.

His face heats as he turns his attention squarely on to the pale woman backlit by her blade. “We went over this, Professor: one cloak between us, that is it. You require it thanks to your highly impractical attire.”

Her eyes narrow at him. “My attire is  _ fine _ and  _ you _ are still shivering. Take your cloak and we will alternate who wears it in intervals.”

“I knew you were twice the fool; that will do  _ nothing _ for either of us. Just take the damned cloak!”

“No.”

“You will take the bedamned cloak or I shall truss you like one of the kitchen cook’s game hens within it! That is an order, Professor.” The words fall out of his mouth alongside the threat before he can stop himself. It’s a reminder to them both of their  _ very _ different stations in life and their upbringings.  


“ _ My _ orders supersede that.” Her voice is steady and even in spite of the hurt and fury in her eyes. “When we return to Garreg Mach, you may take that up with Seteth and Gilbert if it pleases you-- though it would require your presence in the War Room.”

In theory Seteth is in charge while Lady Rhea is missing and Gilbert has no power whatsoever. Seteth would be the only one to outrank him, or at least stand on equal rank in as far as he knows. “I will not mention a word to them. Take the cloak.”

“No.”  


“Convince me of another method and I will let the matter drop.” Dimitri informs her with a mocking note to his voice. He doesn’t believe she has a solution and is merely delaying the inevitable. She’s also calling him a liar with her eyes alone and he’s inclined to agree with that assessment. The moment she gives in and claims victory is the time he’s going to strike and steal it right out from beneath her.

What he doesn’t expect is the flicker of something fleeting in her eyes before she returns to hiding her emotions away again. “Well? Have you an idea, Professor?”

“One.” She replies and doesn’t look as though she is willing to indulge him further. “You wear the cloak and sit down,” she shows him as an example and he’s hard pressed not to just look at the shapely length of her leg from hip to ankle. “I’ll sit in front of you and you’ll wrap the cloak closed and secure it in place as you would if you were alone.”

It… was practical. Absurdly so and simplistic in nature to the point he was ready to shake her for not proposing that in the first place. “Why not just propose  _ that _ from the beginning?”

“I didn’t think you would tolerate being that close.”  


“Tol-” He stops mid-word as the implications of what she’s doing hit him one by one.  


She’s trying as hard as she can when it comes to reconciling the Dimitri she knew of the past, who admittedly would have gone for this plan of hers in a heartbeat and praised her for an innovative solution to their problem while being horrendously embarrassed at the same time, and the man he is now who wants nothing to do with anyone and demands a significant amount of distance and keeps himself isolated. The part he hates the most is that she’s right and he wouldn’t have tolerated it for long if he had any choice in the matter.

But now he had the choice between both of them freezing to death before his revenge could be complete or tolerating being in such close proximity to the woman his younger self might have… he discards the thought immediately before it can complete. He would tolerate her and  _ only _ tolerate; nothing more, nothing less. It was for survival and he would do  _ anything _ to survive until his spear takes Edelgard’s head and mounts it on the walls of Enbarr.  


“So be it.” The cloak is taken from the floor and thrown back into place around his shoulders. The full length of it is impressive and adds to the intimidating image he is on and off the battlefields and has kept him warm through several winters now. Dimitri’s back is against the wall once again and he sends a pointed look to the stunned woman in front of him and lifts the cloak as though she’s dim-witted enough to not understand what she’s supposed to do.  


As annoying as this entire situation is, he will admit the two of them generate enough body heat to make things tolerable, if not pleasantly warm. She is, however, keeping her distance from him and has her knees drawn up to her chest to give him as much space as she can without being outside the cloak and defeating the purpose. Dimitri leans over on a whim. She’s gone silent now and he wonders if she’s fallen back to sleep. She hasn’t and is staring at the glowing sword ahead of them both as though the missing Crest Stone holds some sort of answers to questions she has.  


It takes him a moment or two to realize it isn’t shadows playing with the lines of her face, but that there are traces of what must have been tears on her cheeks.  


He panics for exactly as long as it takes him to remember that it probably has nothing to do with him and everything to do with her own problems that he doesn’t care about. He does care and that’s the worst of it, but he isn’t allowed to do so, not when every person he has cared about has met an untimely end and she was nearly one of them.  


“Professor-”

Her answer is not what he expects. “It’s nothing, Dimitri. We should try to rest while the storm lasts.”

His hand, glove free still, reaches up in spite of his better judgment and brushes his thumb against her cheek. It’s cold when he pulls away from her face and wet. He shows the evidence to her. “This does not look like nothing.”

“Pretend it is.” He’s a little impressed by the command in her tone and it intrigues him more than he’s ready to admit to see the more forceful side of her personality.  


It takes a little work but he manages to turn her around without exposing either them to the cold air outside of the cloak shelter they’ve rigged up. He’s taken aback by how small she seems to him now, comparing them as they are. Her eyes are stubbornly fixed on the black gambeson he kept on after removing the rest of his armor and storing it with her belongings.  


Something about her in the present moment reminds him of the way Edelgard had looked at one point during their childhood and he  _ detests _ it. Detests the way it makes him feel, the reminder that his greatest enemy was someone who once held the same stubborn look of refusal on her face and didn’t reach out. He is the biggest hypocrite in that regard and he doesn’t give a damn; his sins are what will kill him, but this? This is not acceptable and he will not watch another one go down a path that results in becoming  _ his _ sworn enemy.

Her ghost will not haunt him; of this he swears it.

“If it is what I said earlier…” Dimitri falters. He is not accustomed to apologizing anymore and the words are clumsy on his tongue. “I did not mean it. You know--  _ knew _ \-- Jeralt better than I ever have, there is no way he would not be proud of you.”

Her brow knits together and her lips press into a thin white line at his words. The Professor shakes her head. She says nothing to him but her hand reaches out and presses against his chest all the same, fingers curling into the fabric there as if to hold him in place. She can’t feel his heart beneath the quilted armor but he imagines that’s what she’s looking for and wishes he could just stop it the way hers seems to be eternally stalled.  


His free hand undoes the series of clasps and fasteners that hold the armored coat closed, taking her hand after and sliding it in so that she can feel the heart beating beneath the tunic underneath. Dimitri doesn’t recognize his own voice: tender, gentle, and  _ different _ than what he’s accustomed to hearing as he says whatever comes to mind to try and get her to talk to him. She just needs to tell him to be silent or  _ anything _ really to stem the fool’s babble that comes out of his mouth.  


He just doesn’t expect her to shut him up by  _ kissing _ him.


	4. Tomorrow Can Wait 4 (Dimitri x F!Byleth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Citrus content ahead. Be of age when reading, please. There are some serious back-and-forth perspective shifts between Byleth and Dimitri here as well.

It’s the physical contact-- the hand against her cheek and the hand that guides her own to the heart beating steadily beneath a wall of powerful muscle and bone-- that breaks that last bit of self-control she has and casts it to the winds.

Her mouth seizes his with a desperation she cannot hide.   


If she holds him there, if she keeps her grip careful and caging, he cannot fade away. He won’t disappear the way the rest of them have and will as time goes on and the battlefields come and go. She can hold him there, to her, and never fear the death he seeks every time they set foot into bloodied soil. He’s as resistant and stubborn as always; a stone that seeks to stop the river of time. There are cracks in him, cracks in the stone he tries to become, and they allow the water to flow through him.   


Byleth feels the way his fingers curl against the hand he’s held against his heart all this time. She feels that same heart beating faster as her mouth moves against his. He hasn’t shoved her away or demanded to know what in the name of the Goddess she thinks she’s doing. He’s not done a damned thing but allow her this moment of weakness.

Nothing is untouched by time. No one can, or should, remain the same as they were so long as the world continues to turn and change.

_ She _ is still the same as she was five years ago and thus  _ she _ is the anomaly. She fears for what this means, for how long this will last, and how long it will take her to catch up to five years worth of growth and change while the rest of them continue onward. It keeps her up at night, gives her sleepless nights and wears on her the longer the signs and mountains and mountains and  _ oceans _ of evidence pile up against her.

She breaks away first. Her breathing shaky as she wets her lips.   


She needs to tell him something. She needs to  _ say _ something so he knows that this isn’t… it’s not what he thinks, it’s nothing he needs to be afraid of or think anything of it if he doesn’t  _ want _ to and they can just forget it ever happened.

“Dimitri, I-”

Whatever is on her face does something to simultaneously alarm and infuriate him. His hand slides from her cheek to her chin and forces her head to tilt upward. His mouth comes down, hard, on her own. He releases the hand against her chest to keep her right where he wants her. Clumsy and rough as Dimitri is, Byleth accepts what he offers her in the moment and keeps her hands busy by sliding the coat down his arms until he’s forced to release her to shrug out of it.   


This isn’t right. She’s breaking every rule, written and unwritten, that she has ever known when it comes to students and teachers and conduct between the two. She knows better than to let her own weaknesses and insecurities to get the better of her and show in such a blatant way. It doesn’t matter that he’s no longer her student, an eager-to-please and determined young man on the threshold of adulthood who would graduate and become King, and that five years have passed for everyone  _ but _ herself.

She’s still caught in the time of five years ago and seeing the juxtaposition of who he was overlapping who he  _ is _ in front of her continues to throw her off balance. He’s the same youth as before. He’s the feral and ill tempered terror of the battlefield. He’s someone in between the two.   


He hates her.

He doesn’t hate her.

It’s hard enough to chase away the words that sting her still regarding Jeralt’s disappointment in her-- it’s true enough even if he claims he didn’t mean it; Jeralt  _ would _ be disappointed for so many reasons and few of them are anything she has any direct control over. She inherited that belief regarding things she cannot prevent are somehow her fault from him too.-- and harder still to prevent herself from reacting to the abrupt switch in his demeanor.   


She’s in the middle of trying to compose herself and find the strength to push him away when his mouth takes  _ hers _ this time.   


Byleth is going to regret this when all is said and done.

\--

Byleth’s expression tears a hole somewhere inside of him when she breaks off the first kiss.   


He’s never seen her fragile and likely to suddenly disappear before his very eyes. Jeralt’s death and the funeral had  _ nothing _ on this expression and something in him fears that all of his harsh words and actions have done something to break her in ways his hands and blades cannot. Inexperienced as he is, he knows full well what will happen if  _ he _ chooses not to act and takes her chin in hand. There’s a faint whisper of a memory somewhere about Sylvain nearly killing him with embarrassment on the best way to hold a woman’s face before kissing her that comes to life and he seizes it with all he has in him.

He swallows whatever words she is trying to say a moment later.

She isn’t allowed to break. Not like this. Not until  _ he _ allows it and gives her permission to be anything other than what she is, was, and always  _ has _ been to him and the rest of the Blue Lions House.

Dimitri detests the way he’s missing so many of the little details that could be useful-- what face she’s making, how she’s handling  _ his _ turning the tables on her-- and feels the way her hands tug at his clothing. He swears an oath, rough and venomous, and practically throws the quilted coat to the other side of the room and strips away the tunic and undershirt beneath that. His hands return to her body, keeping her head in place as he returns to her mouth.   


Not for the first time does he wish that his sense of taste hadn’t faded; she is simply warm and nothing more.   


She touches him delicately, as though he will shatter beneath her hands, as she finds a network of scar tissue both fine and thick across his chest, stomach, and sides and traces their length. If he breaks his hold over her and tells her to stop treating him as though he’ll break, it will shatter the peace between them and neither of them desire it.   


He kisses a trail from her mouth to her ear, tracing the shell of it with his tongue and relishes in the way her breath quickens and she squirms.   


“My name,” he tells her in a voice thick and hoarse. “Yes, no, and stop. That is  _ all _ I want to hear from you, do you understand?”

She shivers as his breath brushes against her skin and he feels her nod. She will not tell him to stop any more than he will.

His mouth goes to her throat and he bites down against the place his fingers had sought her pulse earlier. He feels his lips curve into a smirk against her skin as the little hitch in her throat catches his ears. Her hands have gone from his body to her own, leaving behind a trail of fire against his skin that runs cold the moment her touch is gone, and he watches the way she does something complicated behind her back and removes the upper half of the strange attire she wears.   


Her body is not the smooth, unblemished porcelain he would deny dreaming of until the day he died. There are cracks on the surface where there should be none. Lines jagged and not, some dappled with tiny pinpricks where needle and thread had sewn her back together. His hands skim over her shoulders, down the sleek muscle of her arms and move from there to her waist. There’s a particularly ugly scar over her left hip and arching up towards her rib cage that catches his attention. His thumb strokes over the too-smooth scar and he can  _ feel _ the fury build within him.

Who was the bastard that marked her so? Where the hell had Jeralt  _ been _ when this happened?   


Why in the eternal flame had she  _ not _ taken better care of her body?

No more of those, he decides. There would be no more marks on her body. He could do nothing about the inevitable scars on her mind and soul that came from war, but he could ensure no blade nor flame touched her ever again so long as he drew breath in his body.

Briefly, Dimitri wonders how many of those scars are due to the fall from the cliffs by Garreg Mach before his attention is stolen back by her hand guiding one of his between her legs. Dimitri thanks the Goddess that the fiery light from the sword wrecks havoc with the ability to distinguish colors or Byleth would know his face to be a shameful shade of red as his fingers meet the slick entrance to her body.   


His eye steadfastly avoids looking where his hand and fingers are occupied and choose to focus on her face. He’s clumsy and unsure, but he leans over her for a better angle, her voice in his ears as she guides him and rewards his efforts with involuntary thrusts of her hips when his fingers find just the right spot. She was  _ hot _ against his hands and his body. Her mouth sought and clung to his, breaking away as he drove her to her breaking point. His eye lingers on her face when she comes.

There is no sound like the one she makes and her expression is one he promises to burn into his memory for the rest of his days.

\--

She likes the feel of his mouth against her throat and he’s  _ learning _ at a rate she shouldn’t be surprised at. He always was a good student and took direction as naturally as he took up a spear in battle. His hands are nothing to casually dismiss either; large palms and long, strong fingers are better than she might have guessed at everything from holding her still to sending fire throughout her body to the point she can’t  _ stop _ moving even if she wants to.

Her hands trace the thick scar tissue against his shoulders and chest that shouldn’t be there as she tries to catch her breath. These are battles she wasn’t there for. These scars are a reminder of her failures and why she should have  _ listened _ to Rhea and kept evacuating the Monastery. Byleth is bothered by the sheer number of them that she finds in between moments where Dimitri discovers another place on  _ her _ body that sends little involuntary sounds slipping out of her mouth with his mouth and hands. He is still resistant to  _ her _ hands and mouth on him, but has little trouble with the reverse.

There’s something about the scar on her left hip he seems fixated on, he strokes it gently with the pad of his thumb or brushes a soft kiss against it every time he comes across it.

His movements are less rough and clumsy than they used to be and his confidence is growing the longer they continue. Her throat is one of his favorite places, as is her mouth, and his hands naturally gravitate toward the curve of her hips or thighs. He doesn’t treat her like glass, his fingers dig in a little too hard and she knows she’ll wear the bruises after for a few days. She likes it when he’s a little too rough, it reminds her that he’s there, he’s real, and that he’s not going anywhere.   


Those scars are reminders as to why she is  _ not _ the hero everyone believes her to be; heroes didn’t leave scars on those they watched over and cared for.

No more, she decides as she reaches down to grab his hand and stops him from sliding his fingers inside her again, there will be no more scars on his body now that she’s there and able to prevent them. She can’t stop the memories of the past, the voices of the spirits he claims are haunting him, but she can make damned sure no more join their ranks and refuse to allow him to harm his body any more than he has.   


“Dimitri,” Byleth’s never heard her own voice this breathless before and it’s embarrassing as Dimitri’s head lifts at the sound of his name. There’s a smug little curve of his lips she finds endearing and irritating all at once. She feels her cheeks and ears redden as his tongue swipes across his lips knowing full well he knows by now how much she likes his mouth. She leans up, noting the way his expression flashes in annoyance as she moves away from him for just a moment, and cradles his face in both hands before kissing his forehead. She justs wants one moment, just  _ one _ , where he allows her to hold him before this all comes to an end.

It takes him a moment to understand what she’s asking him and there’s a brief moment of uncertainty there. His eye travels down her body, lingers at her chest and roves down her stomach to the junction of her thighs and back up again. Byleth nods at the inquiry in his expression; yes, she wants him and he doesn’t need to be afraid of hurting her when he’s ready. She half-crawls over to where he sits. His eye widens and she can  _ see _ the way his throat works when he swallows the closer she gets.

The only question left is  _ how _ he wants to do this. 

\--

Dimitri knows he is something of a prodigy when it comes to anything involving his body. He isn’t sure if it’s his bloodline, House Blaiddyd  _ is _ known for martial prowess as well as consistently having an entire settlement’s worth of children every time a marriage takes place, or if it’s just something he’s particularly gifted with. Learning someone  _ else’s _ body doesn’t come as naturally and he has relished the opportunity to see what he can do.   


Byleth’s back arching, the way her hips buck and grind against his palm, and the way her head tilts back when he does something particularly well is a memory he will keep with him long after this night. He’s almost sorry that tomorrow has to come, that the two of them aren’t able to be trapped here for another few days so that he can learn to play her body the way he can a weapon and drive her to do exactly as he wishes.   


He may very well come to regret this night if he allows himself to  _ think _ for longer than it takes for him to find something fascinating with her body.

He doesn’t care for what she wants to do to  _ his _ body and really would prefer it if she would stop trying to reciprocate while he is busy trying to exploit every last sensitive place on her body. Dimitri does  _ so _ enjoy teasing her until she writhes beneath him. While part of him is intrigued by the idea of what she might be able to do to him, the rest of him vehemently denies himself the pleasure in favor of fully enjoying and getting his fill of the Professor’s body.

Besides, as much as he would like to take care of his own needs-- maybe while she was forced to watch? The thought had some appeal given that she enjoys touching _ him _ so much and not being able to would be a punishment in its own right.-- there is something about seeing her  _ beg _ to let her come that he cannot get enough of.

It might be the way her eyes widen just before she does that gets to him. He knows the little noises she makes and the sharp, desperate cry that hits as her body  _ shudders _ beneath his hands are the sweetest music he could ask for other than the moments she says his name. He has made her  _ beg _ him twice now and he cannot get enough of the little inflection in her voice when she says ‘Please’ and then the sound she always makes when he finally gives in.

Dimitri especially enjoys the way she clings to him as though she is trying to crawl inside his skin after she’s done. The little shivers she has and the jolts as the aftershocks hit her are satisfying on a level he hasn’t experienced in recent memory.   


There’s a heat in her eyes that sparks an answering fire in his veins when she pulls away and stops him from driving her to the edge again. She says his name in a husky voice and it sends the hair on the back of his neck on end. He  _ aches _ in ways he didn’t know were possible and it takes everything in him not to reach out and either drag her to him or knock her to the ground. Either option is appealing and he sees a matching gleam in those soft green eyes that signal a similar thought.

He watches her crawl over to him and swallows hard at the sight. She leans up and kisses him again-- a sweet and lingering hunger that infects him at first brush of her tongue against his lips-- before her hands settle against his shoulders. Her face holds a question that awaits an answer only he can give. He reaches for her, hands settling on her hips to pull her closer. He isn’t as ready as he believes he is but there is no way in hell he is going to turn back now and stop. He  _ needs _ her and needs to be  _ inside of her _ the way his fingers have been. She shuffles forward on her knees until she is between his legs and they are close enough to touch.   


He shifts his position at her prompting and cannot decide where he wants to keep his gaze; on her face or the way her body comes down atop his own. It’s a little of both as he keeps his grip on her hips, fingers digging into the soft curves as he lowers her slowly and groans as she takes him in.   


She tries to stop, to give him a little more time and he growls at her to continue. It’s difficult for him to remain patient when every instinct in him is screaming to thrust up and into her. Her arms wind around his neck, her forehead bumps against his own and he is able to look into her face at the anticipation and anxiety there.   


Both of them squeeze their eyes shut when she sinks down the last little bit and their bodies are now one.   


She is soft and hot and he has never felt anything like this in the entire world. Every little move they make, the labored breathing, sends little shockwaves up and down his spine and threatens to turn his vision white. He forces himself to open his eye and  _ look _ at her in that moment, the way her head hangs low, kiss swollen lip between her teeth and her fingers digging into his shoulders. The way his hands look against her hips and up her body. The way her breasts-- full and soft and heavy when he holds them in his palms, feel pressed into his chest.   


His hands keep her hips in place as he begins to move.  _ This _ isn’t about her; this is his.  _ This _ he will take his fill of and care nothing of what pace she may or may not want. He does what he can to keep his thrusts slow for as long as possible. She doesn’t  _ need _ to give him permission to cut loose on her but does with a press of her lips against the side of his throat and wraps her arms tightly around him.   


Dimitri reaches up and settles one hand against her shoulder and upper back, holding her close to him as his other arm wraps around her waist as his hips thrust up. The difference is indescribable for them both. He doesn’t hear what she’s gasping, but the rise and fall in the pitch of her voice is enough for him to keep it up. She can’t hold him tight enough, his face pressed into her shoulder as she tries to lift and lower her hips to meet him.   


He snarls when he finally comes, his teeth sinking into Byleth’s shoulder hard enough to bruise. There’s no blood that he can tell and his hips eventually still and he is  _ exhausted _ beyond measure. He feels her slumped against him, his cock slipping out of her to lay semi-hard against his thigh, and replaces it with his fingers. The little jerk she makes and the way she whispers one word over and over as if in prayer goads him to bring her to the brink and back off. One more time, he tells her, she needs to beg him  _ one more time _ and he will let her be finished for now.   


For as long as it takes him to regain his breath and energy, anyway. 


	5. Tomorrow Can Wait Final

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the first blanket fic. Thank you all for your kudos, favorites, follows, and reviews! I’ll be taking a day to rest (and play more Fire Emblem, of course) before I inevitably come up with scenario number two and the next pairing. They will not all be massive like this one was-- this just had a very specific build up and execution I had to do.

The Professor, no,  _ Byleth _ lies tucked against the length of his body. The oversized cloak and fur covers them both and he watches the way her eyelashes throw crescent shaped shadows against her cheeks. She’s wearing the tunic he’d discarded to keep her a little warmer and he, reluctantly, replaced some of his own clothing-- the pants and undershirt in particular-- so that he didn’t catch a chill either. He likes the way she looks in his shirt, even if it looks as though she’s grabbed something about five sizes too big for her, and brushes his knuckles against the cool skin of her cheek.   


Dimitri slides down enough to settle his head against her chest and listens. He can hear the way she breathes in sleep; deep and even, if a little on the slow side, and the gurgle of her stomach. He doesn’t hear the heart that  _ should _ be there and beating to keep the blood flowing through her veins and props himself up on one elbow to look at her with a frown.   


“What are you?” He asks her, the Goddess who watched over all of Fodlan, and himself.   


She isn’t as human as she wants to believe she is, of this he is convinced. There is no one in this world who should make a man like him feel as though there is redemption at the end of this damned war and that he can be forgiven the sins he carries so heavily on his back. He would not be surprised if she were the manifestation of some ancient tale brought back only for wars such as this and when Fodlan requires someone to do what cannot be done by mortal hands. A battle maiden untouched and unfazed by the passage of time.

But she is touched by Fate in ways he cannot begin to fathom and the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the pleading way she looks at him at times, and the way she falls apart in his arms speak volumes. She is not immune to despair or grief, nor is she unfamiliar with hate and violence or the  _ need _ to be comforted.

Her destiny, Dimitri realizes, is as cursed as his own in different ways than he is accustomed to seeing and something akin to pity flashes across his face. What a blood-soaked path they both walk. It seems as though they are both destined to reach a bitter end, unforgiven by any but possibly one another, and he feels a twinge in his chest in response to the thought. If he could choose, he would damn himself thrice over in exchange for freeing her from the burden she had to bear as Goddess Chosen.   


She deserves better than that. Even though he has no desire to see the rest of the Blue Lions and listen to their irritating prattling when they knew full well their priority should be the annihilation of Enbarr and the Imperial forces, Dimitri considers the benefits of attending the war meetings once a week if it means potentially getting Byleth alone and having a repeat of tonight. He feels himself smile at the thought and it chases him as sleep eventually comes to claim him.   


Yes, a war room meeting once per month in exchange for a few ‘favors’... this could work to his advantage.

\--

Her hand reaches out and gently rests against his cheek around an hour after Dimitri falls asleep. His eyelid flutters but he does not wake and she breathes a sigh of relief. A tiny smile lingers on her lips and her body is sore but satiated.   


She has bruises in the shape of his fingers and palms, her knees and body ache something fierce and she may have allowed him to overdo it. He has given her a gift she does not deserve and the guilt eats away at her the longer she lays there next to him, bundled up in his shirt, and watches him sleep. The dark shadows beneath his face are especially prominent to her now and he just looks so  _ tired _ in ways beyond physical that she wants to hold him close to her and not let go.   


If only she had been better, had paid closer attention to him and to Felix’s pleas for her to do something about him. Maybe she could have prevented this. Maybe she could have kept him from becoming as haunted as he is now and he would smile and be with the others again the way he had been in the past.

Byleth wonders if this is how her father felt when he realized the woman he had fallen in love with was a  _ nun _ .   


When she found out she was the result of a forbidden romance, Sothis had never let her forget it. The goddess had loved nothing more than to torment her over her existence and mischievously teased her about which sin she was going to commit to beat her father’s own misdeeds. After all, she had said with a twirl about the throne room, children are meant to surpass their parents’ deeds; both the good and the ill.   


Seducing her student was probably right up there with the whole nun thing when it came to forbidden romances.

She watches Dimitri sleep for a little while longer. No nightmares this night, apparently. Perhaps she wore him out enough that the demons that hound him cannot reach him. The little smile on his face is probably her favorite moment out of everything that transpired and she will cherish the memory for as long as it will linger in her mind. Her thumb gently runs across his bottom lip and, against all wisdom, leans down and kisses him. He doesn’t stir and she quietly thanks the Goddess whose soul fused with her own for that small blessing as she reaches for the Sword of the Creator once again.   


Maybe she can bring about a world where this scenario is plausible  _ without _ the blizzard and lack of proper equipment. Where he smiles at her and they are able to be vulnerable and  _ happy _ with one another. She will have to do better, she promises herself that much that she  _ will _ do better and  _ be _ better than she has been. That she will protect him and not get discouraged ever again when it came to his hostile attitudes, knowing full well the Dimitri she used to know  _ is _ still in there somewhere. She just has to be patient and keep calling for him until he’s back and he is ready to step into the light once more.

Byleth’s vision blurs as her grip on the divine blade tightens. There is no turning back now, she cannot afford to, and Byleth closes her eyes on Dimitri’s sleeping form. She unleashes the power of Divine Pulse to wind back the hands of time to where she first spotted the clouds in the distance.

She will not make this mistake again.


	6. Reverie (Seteth x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seteth runs into trouble while out searching for Rhea.

_ Round Two of Blanket Fic! This one starring Seteth and F!Byleth, I had an idea for this one and wanted to write it while I plot the next three out. (Byleth/Edelgard, Petra/Dorothea, and Felix/Byleth are up next in no particular order after this one.) _

_ I appreciate the requests, but please don’t duplicate them/repeat them. I see the reviews and the requests, rest assured I  _ will _ get to the pairing. In the meantime, please enjoy what’s written! _

\--

Seteth may be having one of the worst days in his centuries long life.

He’s already sent his wyvern off, carrying a protesting Flayn with him, to safer terrain and aid in hopes of saving at least one of them, and the last vulenary he had at his disposal is currently collecting water from a small trickle at the back of the cave. His current situation is less than ideal; severely under prepared and caught off-guard on top of it. He’s pinned down and his chances of rescue, if not survival, are dwindling by the hour.   


It’s time to make a run for it.   


His hand tightens on the shaft of his spear, an old familiar friend he’d retrieved after protecting his wife’s grave at the coast, and leans out again. He hasn’t heard or sensed anyone nearby in quite some time, he prays that none of them chose to go after the wyvern rather than pursue him. Seteth retrieves the vulenary, now filled with water, and tucks it away for later as he departs swiftly. How long it’s been, he muses, since the last time he has had to flee through the woods like a common thief from those intending to do him hard.   


It’s not long before he hears the sounds of a battlefield raging nearby; the screams of dying men and beasts split the air and send a grim chill down his spine. Steel clashes and he knows there will be the scent of blood and exposed offal before long. He makes plans to skirt the battle as far as he can while taking advantage of the noise to make haste-- and hopefully without being spotted.   


He manages to get past enough of them that he grows careless and lets his guard down. A novice move and one he will chide himself into the next three centuries for making should he make it out of this mishap alive. He is caught by two of them, shouts rising as he puts the blade through the throat of the closest and tears it open. There is no time to regret the messy way the man dies, how  _ young _ this particular pair are, or the horrified look on the other man’s face and Seteth takes off as quickly as possible before they recover their senses and pursue him into the forest.

It isn’t long before he catches the telltale clank of armor and snapping limbs behind him. He doesn’t have much of a lead and will inevitably need to confront his pursuers. He counts the number of footsteps behind him as best he can.   


Two, perhaps three, he could take on his own.  
  
Five is too many and he is not going to get away from this unscathed.    


Seteth ducks left and finds himself up against a shoulder high cliff face. He swears at his ill-timed luck and wishes, for the first time in centuries, that he had not forsaken his alternate form as he prepares to face his assailants. It has been quite some time since he’s regretted the decision and he does not relish the feeling now. Spear directed forward, he prepares himself, leaning into his stance and hopes he can maintain his range as the first red and argent soldier breaks through the thicket.   


It takes the soldier a few moments to reorient himself in the small clearing, but he spots Seteth with his back against a rock face and charges forward. His allies are not far behind and Seteth shifts his weight to the balls of his feet, centering, and grips the shaft tightly in preparation of the first, and hopefully  _ last _ , strike for the incoming enemy.

A serrated whip the color of live embers tears a fiery path through armor and flesh alike before returning to a place behind him with a sharp  _ clink _ .   


Seteth hears a soft breath as a black-and-grey shrouded form launches over his shoulder.   


Byleth rises from where she lands, Sword of the Creator fierce and bright in hand, and, without so much as a glance behind her, bolts forward to meet the remaining soldiers. In the several heartbeats it takes her to reach the stunned men and women, she’s switched weapons for a simpler blade and removes a man’s head from his shoulders. There is no such thing as a clean death in war, but Byleth does the killing with as little prolonged suffering on the part of those who are unlucky enough to get in her way as possible.   


They  _ do _ die shortly after she is through with them too, Seteth notices. She’s gone through two more soldiers and is focusing on the last one standing by the time his shock has worn off. A glancing blow from a blade against her side doesn’t phase her in the slightest and she throws a punch that would have made his sister proud in response. There’s a crunch of cartilage and bone and the woman screams, stumbling away and clutching her face.

She screams again as Byleth’s weapon goes through her body twice and her head is severed from her shoulders like her fellow soldiers’.

He watches as, upon ascertaining that her opponents are well and truly no longer a threat, she immediately cleans her blade on the tabard of one fallen soldier and begins picking through the men’s belongings for useful supplies. It’s a remarkably callous move that ranckles at his moral code; one does not  _ raid _ the fallen like a common… mercenary. He finds his self-righteous fury quieted at the thought and watches her pick through what’s useful and what isn’t. In the end, she departs with a few bottles stowed away and a hand-axe that isn’t in terrible shape.

She turns to face him with the same inscrutable expression she’s worn since her arrival to the monastery. 

Seteth understands why they refer to her as the Ashen Demon. 


	7. Reverie 2 (Seteth x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Byleth contemplates her poor life decisions and learns that Seteth does not, in fact, respect personal space.

She can’t quite get Flayn’s tear-stained face and pleading voice out of her head. 

The young woman had  _ begged _ her, wildly promising anything and everything within her power if she would only save her father from what she was sure was inevitable death. She was distraught enough to forget that their cover of brother and sister was supposed to be strictly maintained even when in Byleth’s presence and clung to the professor as though she were the only solid ground in a wild storm.

Byleth had given her a single, reassuring stroke of her hair before passing her into Mercedes’ care. Felix had meet her at the supply room with a pack already loaded up and ready to go. A comedic stare at the cantankerous swordsman had earned her as close to a genuine smile as she’d ever received from him and a word of warning about the weather turning quickly this time of year.

Grimacing as she tried to signal the beast beneath her to lower her down to the ground, Byleth half-strangled the poor wyvern trying to help her find his rider as they dropped like a stone from the sky. She was  _ not _ fond of heights for a good number of reasons, the least of which was the most recent disaster when she’d been blasted over a damned cliff and rendered unconscious for five years, and this was up near the top of things she’d rather never do again. She gave the beast’s thick hide a pat of apology before giving it the signal to return to the monastery. 

She studies the area around her and slowly makes a circular pass until she’s back to where she started again. On her second pass, she finds what she’s looking for and kneels down beside an imprint of a boot leading off into the bracken. A few moments later and she finds bits and pieces of finely woven cloth torn away here and there in the brambles off to her left. Byleth follows and the ground beneath her may as well have been that of the monastery for the speed she’s able to traverse the difficult terrain. 

This was her father’s specialty and thus her own; if Seteth were truly being pursued by Imperial soldiers, she would have the advantage in and outside of combat. 

She hears the shouting before she actually sees  _ him _ . There’s a blur of hair darker than her own and a grim look on the stern advisor’s face she’s not seen before his back is to her. The unusual spear he’d picked up from defending his wife’s resting place is pointed at an enemy she can’t see quite yet but hears.

She’s up and over the log before she registers its location, her feet hit the ground with a solid  _ thump _ and her hand reaches for her blade. She  _ could _ try hurling a different one like a javelin, but she’s not Dimitri or Sylvain or even Ingrid; there’s no way in the numerous hells she’s going to be able to make that shot with the force necessary to make it count. 

Sword of the Creator it is, and the blade erupts into fiery light at her touch. Her arm draws back and snaps forward, a flick of her wrist at the last moment sends the blade scattering into numerous sharp edged pieces into the chest and stomach of the closest soldier. It tears free with a sound she’s familiar with and the soldier is quite dead soon after he hits the ground. She pulls the whip-blade back as she launches herself over Seteth’s shoulder and lands a short distance in front of him. The soldiers stare at her in abject confusion. They don’t know where she’s come from, who she is, or what she’s done to their comrade in arms. She rises from her position, the sacred weapon put back into place as she draws a replacement blade, and takes full advantage of their surprise.

It’s a quick enough battle, these are fairly new recruits sent out on a scouting mission without any true expectations of their success, and she’s done before she realizes it. The light in the eyes of the last soldier dims and Byleth cleans her blade before the blood can dry. She does frown briefly in annoyance as her hand throbs. She hadn’t positioned her fingers properly for a punch for the woman who had died last and her hand was letting her know in no uncertain terms. 

A quick check of their inventory shows little of any actual use. Disappointing, as she’d hoped to replenish some of the monastery’s armories with Imperial goods and use them later to cause confusion within their ranks. No written orders either;  _ also _ disappointing, but unsurprising. Edelgard and Hubert weren’t foolish enough to do something like that. If they  _ had _ carried any orders, she’d have suspected a trap. The heavy weight of someone’s stare gave Byleth reason to turn around. Embarrassing as it was, she’d nearly forgotten Seteth was there.

Byleth feels the words freeze up in her throat as she turns to greet him as she registers the look on his face as the same as the mercenaries she grew up with who’d given her the moniker “Ashen Demon” on the battlefield. 

She looks away from him for a moment and to the sky above to give herself a moment to collect her thoughts and sort her feelings back into place. Now was certainly not the time to be lost in resentment and hurt, she thought to herself and gave pause at the tall stack of clouds in the north. 

Blizzard.  _ Great _ . Just what she needed. 

It’s a good enough excuse to cross the distance between them, however, and approach the stricken man in front of her as though she hadn’t seen his thoughts visible on his face.  _ Lead in with something that will distract  _ him _ for the moment. Everything else takes second place to getting both of us to safety and not giving him time to delay that much. _

Of course, she doesn’t expect him to reach out for her as soon as she’s close enough. Her eyes widen as his palm slides up and cradles her cheek as though she is something precious and fragile. The tips of his fingers burn where they come into contact with the rounded shell of her ear and Byleth can do nothing but hold herself still at the unfamiliar look in the man’s eyes.

"...Seteth?"


	8. Reverie 3 (Seteth x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Seteth Awkwardly Expresses Concern and Byleth Is So Tired Please Leave Her Clothes Alone.

He cannot help himself.

He is going to replay the battle in his mind for quite some time and the images run through his brain over and over again. Everything from the way her hair flew around her with every elegant movement, the splash of blood splattered against her face in contrast to the green of her eyes and hair, and the flash of her blade as though it were an extension of her body. How her expression didn’t change in the slightest until she turned to face him and there was a crack in that otherworldly calm that surrounded her.  


A softening, he corrects himself a moment later, not a crack, of her eyes as she sheathes her blade and strides forward toward him. He thinks, for a moment, that she has  _ something _ else in her gaze before she checks the skies and he has no idea why she would look at him in  _ disappointment _ .

Perhaps she is vexed with him for departing on his own without so much as a word? Because he dearly upset and frightened Flayn?

She’s close enough to touch and his hand reaches out before he can stop himself. Her skin is chilled and damp with sweat, she must have been running for quite some time prior to that skirmish,and his palm rests against her cheek. His fingers splay, feeling more of her than he intended to, and traces the rounded curve of her ear.

He isn’t sure if it’s to convince himself she’s flesh-and-blood or if to see if she reacts in any form to the unexpected contact, but her eyes widen and surprise visibly flashes across her face at the contact. Something within his chest stirs at the shift and he keeps himself still, looking down at her and simply absorbing the sight in front of him.

"...Seteth?" He's rather fascinated by the way her mouth shapes his name and the sound of it ringing with hesitation. A fascination interrupted by an icy touch when her hand reaches up to cover his. He’s surprised to feel how cold her hand is.  


Surprised and immediately concerned.  


“How long have you been searching in this weather?” There are times being a father for several long centuries comes out unwittingly and this is one of them. He is known for being stern to the point of unforgiving and his tone often reflects it.  


“Your hands are positively frigid, why are you not dressed appropriately for the elements? What sort of example are you setting for your students?”

“Since Flayn returned.” She’s calm, direct, and to the point in her response. She’s also pointedly ignoring the slight toward her chosen attire and whatever example it may or may not set for her former students.  


_ Thank the Goddess, Flayn made it safely. _ The magnitude of his relief weakens him and Seteth closes his eyes as it floods through him. A tightness in his chest and stomach loosen and he breathes easier knowing the most important person in his life is safe. Without Flayn, he would not be able to continue on in this world; losing her mother had nearly killed them both.  


He’s drawn back to himself by the feeling of her hand gently guiding his away from her face.

“My apologies, you were saying?” He feels a little guilty for being lost in his own thoughts while she’s standing in the cold. The stress of the events must have rattled him more than he anticipated; he would not normally respond in such an unusual manner.  


“A blizzard is on its way.” Byleth explains and gestures to the north. “We need to find shelter before it hits.”  


“That would explain the sudden drop in temperature and wind.” Seteth replies bitterly. He would have preferred that they get back to the monastery but he wasn’t going to risk their lives. “How long do we have?”  


Flayn would be beside herself with worry, but he would have to believe she trusted him to keep himself  _ and _ the Professor safe from harm. They would have to apologize to his daughter upon their arrival-- perhaps even take her to the coast for a much needed break as part of the penance for making her worry. He didn't even notice Byleth’s automatic inclusion into the trip he was already making mental checklists for.

“Hard to say.” There’s a tone of regret mixed in with apology in her tone as she responds. “At worst around thirty minutes, at best… a couple hours.”

“Do you have a course of action in mind?” It’s been far,  _ far _ too long since the last time he was caught unprepared for poor weather, much less a blizzard immediately  _ after _ confronting an unexpected troupe. She’s given them a decent enough estimate as he checks the skies himself with a resigned frown. To his surprise, Byleth nods and points somewhere deeper into the woods.  


"There's a small hunter's shack we can use just a little further into the forest." At the look he gave her, she offers a one shouldered shrug and explains further. “I passed it on my way. I had hoped you were hiding there.”

He allows her to guide him to this structure and pauses as she approaches it with all the confidence of one accustomed to such crude shelters. His brow furrows as he sees it and he cannot help the doubt from creeping into his voice. “Will it survive such a storm?”

“It survived the other three we have had this winter.” Byleth points out with the practicality of someone who pays attention to the types of details Seteth himself often does. “It only  _ looks _ rough, I’m certain it will hold up.”

He steels himself for mice and worse as he enters in the abandoned structure. To his surprise, other than a bit on the dusty side, the space is remarkably sparse and without much other than a crude pair of rough hewn chairs. He watches her scope the small building, hardly more than a glorified shack, with a critical eye on the roof and floor boards. The pack she’s carrying is slung off her shoulder and deposited in the center of the floor. She takes the Sword of the Creator and activates the sacred weapon without a second thought; the blade lighting up instantly at her command to cast a fiery orange light from corner to corner. A fire, he understands, would be ill advised due to smoke and the hazards of the upcoming wind.  


The blade will not keep them warm, but it does offer a familiar light and that, he supposes, is better than being cold  _ and _ in the dark.

“Is that wise with the Imperial soldiers still close at hand?” Seteth inquires, more to fill the silence than actually questioning her judgment. It occurs to him this is the first instance he and Byleth have had any one-on-one interaction without prying ears or watchful eyes around. He is always on edge at the monastery as a result and being outside of a proper setting has him… unsettled. After considering a handful of other words, unsettled is the one he decides is most appropriate for the feeling he’s experiencing.  


Byleth flicks her gaze to the sole window, tiny as it was, and then back to him with a lift of her brow. “Not necessarily.” She admits after a moment’s consideration. “But if the soldiers find us, I’ll take care of it.”

There it is again; that fascinating lack of expression on her face that comes with discussing tactics and a plan of attack. Now that he thinks of it, she’s positioned them in such a way that  _ they _ will be the ones with the advantageous positioning even  _ in _ cramped quarters. Seteth finds the silence that follows utterly oppressive and resists the urge to fidget as though he were a child. To think he would  _ miss _ the unending chatter and bustle the monastery offered to this degree was unthinkable.

Byleth is sorting through the pack she has and taking stock of their supplies. His own pack has been long lost in his headlong flight away from the soldiers she dispatched and he feels as though he’s somehow  _ failed _ her in some way as a result of it. She twists the wrong way a moment later and he hears as well as  _ sees _ the way her breath hitches in response.He recalls the reason almost instantly and scowls. “I do not have Flayn’s talent for healing, but I can at least clean and disinfect the wound the old fashioned way.”  


“It’s alright.” She replies without missing a beat. “Were you injured?” Her eyes lift from the supplies and study him carefully. He realizes she’s just as detail oriented in some ways as he is and makes a deliberate show of moving his limbs to show there’s no favoring one side or any pain whatsoever. He may not be the youngest man in Fodlan, but he is certainly not as fragile as a man in his position might suggest.

“No, but I  _ did _ happen to see you take a nasty hit. Allow me to look.” A beat. “ _ Please _ .”  


He’s not certain what the long, searching look is all about and files it away to question her over at a later time. She finally nods, reluctantly, and reaches back with a grimace to unfasten a series of buckles and laces that comprise her armor. It’s impressive to watch and he feels his arms ache in sympathy with the position she’s contorted herself into to get at them. Her coat is folded up and set to one side as well.

Seteth can see it from there and rises, crossing the floor to kneel beside her for a better look. It’s shallow, thank the Goddess, but nasty looking. A couple places are oozing thanks to the scab breaking and he’s quick to clean it with the supplies she has at hand. His eyes are drawn to other red scratches and lines on her body and then the thick, white scars that pepper much of her now exposed skin. He feels his expression darken at a particular wound on the opposite side; a ragged edged scar that dd  _ not _ heal cleanly at all arching from rib toward her hip.  


He knew an axe wound when he saw one and  _ that _ was a particularly nasty one that should have killed her.  


“That was my first battle.” Byleth breaks his train of thought as she notices the scar he’s studying. “And my first kill.”

Seteth feels something bubbling hot and sour in his throat. “Your first- how old were you?”

He watches her face go blank in thought and he knows immediately the answer is going to put him in a fine rage the moment she says it. No matter how old she was at the time, she was  _ too young _ to be on the battlefield and there was nothing anyone would be able to tell him to change his mind.  


“Eleven.”

If Jeralt Eisner wasn’t dead and buried with his wife, Seteth would have slain him himself.


	9. Reverie 4 (Seteth x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Personal Space Invasion 2: Pointy Ear Boogaloo.

Byleth has mixed feelings on the scar in question.  


On one hand, it was another thing her father blamed himself for. On the other, it was the day she’d earned the right to enter the battlefield instead of staying back at the base camp. There’s no real reason she hides it other than the fact it’s practical to keep it covered up and because the looks people give her range from the one Seteth has to pitying to disgust. She shifts her weight away from Seteth’s hand so that she can cover it back up for his own comfort.  


Tries to, anyway, but the archbishop’s advisor is not so easily deterred. His hand moves across her stomach to rest against the scar itself, his fingers tracing the length and width of it as though his touch would erase it from her skin. She’s not sure if it’s the telltale signs of a mercenary’s life that bother Seteth, her age, or if the events of the day have shaken him. She’s never seen him so physically affectionate with  _ anyone _ and thought he was the type to dislike contact as a whole.

“Jeralt was in battle.” Byleth tells him, guessing at what may have caused the spark of fury in the man’s gaze. “I was supposed to be safe back at camp with some of the injured, but the enemy forces split up and flanked us.”  


Seteth is silent but listening and his hand hasn’t removed itself from her person. Byleth gives a mental shrug and continues. “A soldier crashed into the tent I shared with my father.” She pauses, a small smile curving her lips as the memory of that moment resurfaces. There’s a note of amusement in her voice as she continues on. “He wasn’t expecting a child, I wasn’t expecting him and we both stared at one another for a little while.”

She’d only had the dagger, the one ever-present on her hip, and a training blade at the time against a man battle trained, experienced, and armed with an axe. “He swung the axe, I flung the dagger, and that’s about all I can remember.”  


Except for the look on her father’s face when he showed up to find her trying to clean her blood out of their belongings with a makeshift bandage wrapped around her middle. She remembered the panic in his voice when he called for a healer and the lines etched deep around his mouth when he returned her dagger, cleaned and sharpened, back to her a few days later. He’d hit the flask and wineskin a lot harder during her time in the healers’ tent and would end up dragged in and dumped into a cot next to her own.  


Once the healer had deemed her recovered, her training had taken priority and Jeralt had been  _ merciless _ in his instruction. He was patient but unyielding until she’d performed to his satisfaction. That was the first time she’d seen him afraid and the first time she’d seen the look on his face that, later, reflected itself on that of his mercenary band.  


It was a difficult notion for a child to accept that their parent was afraid of them. Even now, with the information from his journal and what little she has since learned about herself, she doesn’t understand what about her would inspire such fear.

“Were you not terrified?”  


Byleth blinks at his tone. “No?”

Wrong answer, apparently, given the heated glare she receives in return. Her brow furrows a little in response. “Fear isn’t…” a natural response? A normal one? She can’t quite find the words to explain that fear just isn’t something she feels when confronted with danger or the risk of her life coming to an end. Especially if it’s at the hands, or blade, of another. Maybe it’s her upbringing and being a mercenary from childhood onward or maybe she inherited Jeralt’s mindset regarding death coming for them all eventually and seeing so much of it so early on has numbed her to her own mortality.

But she didn’t, and still doesn’t, fear death itself even now.

“It isn’t something I’ve experienced often.” She finishes reluctantly.  


Byleth listens as the wind howls and the shack rocks against the gust. Little scratching sounds against the wood and stone tell her the blizzard has arrived and with a  _ fury _ . They’re going to be stuck there for quite some time, if not the entire night and part of the morning that followed. She draws away from Seteth’s touch, suddenly uncomfortable and a little too aware of how close he is, and heads for the window.

She sighs at the blur of shadows that should have been trees. Anything she could have seen was obscured by a thick, whirling curtain of solid white. She’d say damn the Goddess but there’s something a little odd about damning the soul entwined with her own.  


Against her better judgment, Byleth glances behind her to find Seteth staring, as she often does, into the missing space where a Crest Stone  _ should _ be. He looks exhausted; shadows dark beneath his eyes and the same lines around the corners of his mouth she became all too accustomed to on her father’s. Out of habit, she picks up the blanket tucked into the pack and drapes it over the pensive man’s shoulders.  


He is a good deal quicker than she gives him credit for and her wrist is seized in an instant.  


“Sit.”  


That’s an order if she’s ever heard one and something within her doesn’t care for the authoritative tone. It must have shown on her face as Seteth’s grip tightened briefly and he spoke again. “Please, have a seat.”

She directs her eyes to the hand on her wrist and then back to his face.  


To her surprise, he pointedly ignores the look she gave him and waits for her to do as she’s told.  


There’s a vast number of options she has at this point and several of them include a level of violence that appeals to her the longer his hand holds her in place. Some of them include confronting him the way she would a wayward student, or  _ former _ student in this case, and letting him know this behavior was unacceptable-- especially for a man of his position and age. Another few options include a combination of both. She chooses, for the moment to move around him and sit down.  


He lets go of her wrist in order to pull her shoulder to shoulder with him. Half of the blanket is put around her and Seteth holds the edges together. She looks at him, studying his face carefully for signs of fever or possible concussion that would cause a change in behavior. She’s not Manuela, Mercedes, Flayn, or even Marianne and thus has little more than basic first aid knowledge..

She sees what looks suspiciously like a smile, a small one, cross his mouth. Her eyes narrow in response.

“My body temperature runs warmer than average.” He explains without taking his eyes off the blade in front of them. “In addition with your own and the blanket you had the keen insight to pack, offers a sufficient heat source to stave off the chill. It does require us to be in closer physical proximity than you are likely comfortable with. For that, I offer my sincerest apology, but insist we bear in the name of survival.”

She can’t find any solid flaws in that suspiciously logical explanation that would allow her to argue her way out of it, but something about it-- and him-- still feels off in a way she can’t explain. Byleth says nothing in response and focuses on trying to think about anything other than how odd he’s acting.

To her delight, he dozes off a short while later in the same way a particularly ornery cat would when comfortable on a warm lap. The comparison makes her smile and she takes the opportunity to scrutinize  _ him _ instead of the other way around. He is fairly good looking and of an indeterminate age the same way Jeralt and Rhea happened to be. Some days he seems more like Hanneman, if not older, in age and demeanor. Other times, as with Flayn and a couple of the other students, he seems much younger-- and clumsier-- than a man of his station would suggest.  


In all cases, he kept himself at a distance from everyone else. Distant, unapproachable, and stern. She's heard several compare him to the statues of the Four Saints and others still imply he's the second coming of one in particular.

Why then, Byleth wondered as she studied the crease in his brow, was it different now that they were alone? From the way he looked at her to the way his hands always found themselves lingering on her skin in the last couple hours, something had shifted in his usual demeanor that she wasn’t able to put a finger on and it bothered her the more she thought of each and every little change she’s noticed in him.

She slid a hand up slowly, careful not to wake him, and felt his forehead. Was he afraid of her as well? Was he just sick and thus acting out of the norm as a result? Cool, not clammy, and no sign of fever.

_ Damn. _ Disappointment filled her as she was back to square one.  


No fever to explain his strange behavior, and it certainly wasn’t the ambush that had gotten to him-- Seteth had always been unflappable in battle. She smooths his hair out of his face as best she can and pauses. His hair is softer nearer to the root but almost the same as a wyvern’s mane the closer to the ends she got. She enjoys the stolen moment while he’s asleep; if he was going to freely touch her as he has been, it’s only fair for her to do the same when it pleases  _ her _ .

A little smile plays across her lips as she runs her fingers through his hair. This isn’t something she’s had the luxury of trying before, and she finds she enjoys the experience more than she thought. She fights the urge to tease him a little and braid his hair to see how long it takes him to notice when he wakes in the morning-- or if he wakes while she’s in the process of giving him a head full of braids Petra would be impressed by. Her hand brushed some of his hair away from his collar and pauses in place.  


The light from the Sword must be playing tricks on her; there’s no way that his ears… She carefully pushes his hair up and back to get a better look. Her fingers search and find the warmth of skin and trace the shape carefully. She sees the way they point rather than curve.  


She doesn’t even sense him  _ move _ before his hand is around her wrist and his head turns just enough to get a better look at her.  


His eyes are a brighter shade of green than she’s accustomed to and it  _ isn’t _ just the light from the blade playing tricks on her this time; the thin, narrow pupil reminds her of the last time she saw Rhea’s eyes-- in full dragon form as she was-- and Byleth feels her mouth go dry at the sight.  
  
What _ is _ he?


	10. Reverie Final (Seteth x F!Byleth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Citrus warning. Please do not be underaged while reading this.

Seteth prides himself on his patience and ability to wait. Lying low and sensing the moment when his opponent’s guard is at its lowest before he strikes has been his specialty in and outside of combat-- it’s why the students of the Academy often rage against him. They are not prepared, nor can they ever truly be, given who and what he is and the vast amount of experience they are up against. Humans are as backstabbing, selfish, and vain as ever in these times, and yet, there is something he particularly likes about a scant handful of them that makes dealing with the rest of the predictable cretins tolerable.

After centuries of life, human beings become predictable and it becomes more difficult to stomach their dishonest ways. His brothers have already abandoned the world as a whole, choosing isolation in places ill-suited for human travel. He and Flayn had done the same prior to Rhea’s plea and his admitted weakness when it comes to familial matters.   


Moments, for example, like these where he’s managed to not only take someone by surprise, but render them utterly speechless and incapable of doing other than staring wide-eyed at him count among his favorite memories.   


No one ever expects him to have a mischievous side

He’s quite surprised Byleth was so bold as to touch him while she thought him asleep and hearing the little chuckle under her breath nearly broke the illusion he’d carefully crafted..   


He’s never heard her laugh before.   


He’s seen her weep-- a sight he never wishes to see again for as long as her lifespan holds-- and look lost after Jeralt’s assassination in a similar manner he imagined he once did after his wife’s untimely death in the war. He’s seen her face soften when she looks after her students in the Academy and go utterly blank in the midst of battle as she does what she must to ensure their victory. He’s also seen loneliness when they discuss what little she knows of her past, of Jeralt, and of who and what she truly is; a type of isolation that isn’t often seen given how much people know of themselves and their histories.   


She is a mystery even to herself thanks to a combination of Rhea’s vehement secrecy and Jeralt’s willful ignorance.   


Seteth did promise, some time ago, that he would not abandon or betray her and he is a man of his word. His feelings of fascination where she's concerned have only grown over time and developed into something deeper than anticipated. Unfortunately, he has his responsibilities and the duties he performs will not allow him to approach her in the manner he would prefer.   


Byleth too has her own responsibilities preventing her from proper courtship. Her duties, burdensome as they must be, are carried out with an elegance he can only marvel at.   


After the war, he’s told himself on many an occasion, he will do the right thing-- the  _ proper _ thing-- and settle things with her in no uncertain terms. But his duty to the Church, and hers to… her students, he supposes is the most apt conclusion of where her loyalties truly lie,  _ must _ come first.

This blizzard was an unexpected blessing. Not only were the two of them alone, undisturbed, and without the risk of staining their reputations, but they were away from Garreg Mach entirely. They were on equal footing here; man and woman together against the elements and nothing more than that.   


Perhaps for this one night, he can remove the guise of Seteth the Advisor and simply be Cichol the man once more.

The shadows in the shack do nothing to hide her from his sight and he can  _ see _ the questions reflected in her eyes. He sees the way all the suspicions and pieces of puzzles she may have had regarding he, Rhea, and Flayn coming together to form a more concrete picture. While still cautious and taken aback, she still does not fear him, nor does she seem to be revolted by his ears.   


It has been quite some time since he has seduced a woman, much less someone as difficult to read as Byleth Eisner, and he finds himself rather looking forward to the challenge.

He turns his head, keeping an eye on her face as he brushes a kiss against the inside of the wrist he held captive. His fingers slide up the soft skin to the back of her hand, covers it with his own, and guides her to the pointed shell of his ear. His free hand reaches up and, as he had when she first arrived, cradles her cheek in his palm. Seteth’s fingers find the small curve of  _ her _ ear and gently trace its shape.   


Surprise in her face. Her eyes widen as she feels his ear and knows it to be real, not an illusion. He can't help but chuckle softly at the way her fingers run themselves along the point again and again.

There's wariness in her voice as she says his name and he fights down the urge to tease her for the time being. “Yes?”   


His fingers trace a lazy design on the inside of her wrist- a sloppy version of his Crest given that his ability  _ to _ draw is nothing short of atrocious that borders on profane-- and feels the smile reach his eyes at the blush that blooms against her cheeks.

“What,” she clears her throat and tries again. “ _ What _ are you doing?”

He lifts a brow in response. “Returning the, ahh,  _ kind _ gesture offered while I was asleep.”

Her blush deepens and he’s  _ grinning _ in the way he had when he was a much younger man when his plans had come to fruition. “You weren’t asleep.” Her tone is accusatory as he brings her hand away from his ear and plants a kiss against her calloused palm. He wonders at the strength those small hands of hers carry.   


“No,” he replies easily. “I was not.”

“And you didn’t say anything…?”

He allows her to pull free for the moment and watches her rub the place he’s touched. She expects an answer out of him and he isn’t quite sure which way he wants to reply. He could tease her, seeing if he can rile her up might be an entertaining game in and of itself given her current reputation in the monastery, He could also try any number of answers ranging from forward to blunt to those meant to lure her in where he wishes her to be.   


He decides on something in the middle in the end. “I found nothing offensive or distasteful about your actions, so I allowed you to do as you pleased.”

“Until I touched your ear.”

“Until then, yes.” He acknowledges the moment a line was crossed. For a moment, he weighed the dangers of revealing such a secret to her and throws caution to the wind. She knows he is Flayn’s father and either knows what Rhea is, if not  _ who _ her true identity is, and her care has entrusted to him by his sister regardless.   


“They’re sensitive.” There’s a considering expression bordering on calculating on her face that he knows all too well and fondly runs a finger around the outside curve of her own ear. He's seen a number of rounded ears over the centuries, but there's something cute about hers he can't help but touch.   


The skin at the tips of her ears grows hot and he gives her a smug ‘as I thought’ look in return. “Not unlike like your own, I see."  
  
She glares at him. Seteth hasn’t been this delighted since Flayn informed him of the Professor’s attraction to him some two moons ago. It's a rare occasion where he gets to tease someone, after all, and he intends to make the most of it.

“Point taken.” Byleth tries to push his hand away from her ear and gives Seteth a pointed look when he takes her hand in his and kisses her knuckles. “Is there a reason you’re acting like Sylvain? Did you take a blow to the he-”

It takes everything in Seteth’s power  _ not _ to burst out laughing at the implication that  _ he _ is in any way, shape, or form comparable to the womanizing heir of House Gautier. The boy believes himself to be suave and undeniable as a suitor-- he cannot be more wrong if he tries and the results are often painful to watch. Exasperating too. However, he can address the differences at another time and has something much more interesting in mind for her to consider as he tilts her chin up with his free hand and brushes his mouth over her own.

Simple and effective; he doesn’t require anything flashy or outrageous to make his intentions known. He withdraws after a moment and awaits a reaction of some sort. Rejection would certainly put a dampener on the plans he has for her and would require a good deal of apologizing on his behalf.   


“I am uninjured and of sound mind, I assure you.” Seteth reassures her. He sees a quick flash of pink as her tongue runs across her bottom lip. Perhaps she isn't as adverse to this as he feared. “Byleth.”

The sound of her name brings her back to the present and out of her thoughts. There are times where he detests her quiet-by-default nature and this happens to be one of them. His forehead rests against her own, absent of its ever-present circlet, and he invokes the art of patience once more.   


He makes a mental note to ensure she  _ stays _ with him in the moment rather than going to a place he cannot easily follow as the evening progresses. “If my… affections are unwelcome, you need only but say so.”   
  
“Why now?” Her question is soft spoken but insistent as she searches his face.

He likes the color of her eyes, not because it puts her at a higher level than the average human in Fodlan, but because they are the easiest way to read her. The way the pupils dilate or shrink, how she widens or narrows them while listening, or the way the shade of green will darken or brighten depending on her mood.   


He wasn't expecting the question and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to understand what she’s asking. “In short, we are alone.”

Her suspicion is utterly vexing but understandable. Had he simply followed some of Flayn’s advice and expressed more of an interest in her, this may have gone very differently from the start.

“We are a significant distance away from the monastery and thus away from the eyes of those who require our focus. Our priority is the rescue of the Archbishop and defeat of the Empire." He says. "Should the faithful discover that we are more… intimately acquainted, it may shake their trust in the Church, myself as the advisor to Lady Rhea, and  _ your _ reputation as a much beloved and esteemed Professor.”

This is astonishingly difficult to explain, Seteth realizes after the final words leave his mouth, and he doesn’t like the implications within them; that one’s reputation matters above all else, including one’s personal happiness. That their happiness will never  _ be _ a priority so long as there is work to be done. It’s suspiciously close to the damned Crest system Rhea and others of nobility cling to and he finds himself disgusted by it all the more.   


“What I mean to say is-”

He sees the faintest glimmer of annoyance before Byleth tilts her head  _ just _ so and kisses him. Her mouth is softer than he anticipated even if her lips a touch on the chapped side. Seteth files the information away and will need to acquire a protective salve to remedy the issue. Her hands are  _ still _ too cold for his liking and he takes both of hers into his own to warm them.   


Lectures on proper self-care can wait; the subject of his desire is warm, willing, and in front of him. That, above all else, is all Seteth truly cares about for the next little while.

\--

Byleth has learned more about Seteth in the last few hours than she has over the time she spent with him in the monastery or on the battlefield. He's significantly more affectionate now that the two of them are alone; if he isn't holding one or both of her hands, he's settled them somewhere against her bare skin-- and he did not hesitate to help her undress in order to see and touch more of her.

Aside from the pointed ears and intriguing trick he does with his eyes-- he isn't forthcoming with how and  _ why _ he can do that-- he is otherwise solidly human and normal. He has scars from the battlefield as well and can name each moment he received them with perfect clarity. The ones against his back and chest are wounds that nearly killed him from the battle he lost his wife. His expression as he spoke of those scars speaks of grief and inability to forgive himself for not being good enough to keep her safe.

Byleth understands all too well the failure he speaks of. It hurts to see that pain in his eyes and she can't find the words to comfort and offer the forgiveness he needs. Instead, she leans down and presses a kiss to the largest of them as though it could make the pain heal. Her mouth brushing against it must have broken something in him and Byleth finds herself flat on her back, surprised, while he holds her in place and nips his way down her body from collarbone to hips.

Her eyes widen as his mouth drops lower and her hands immediately fist themselves in his hair.

_ I may have made a mistake. _

Seteth, aside from being openly affectionate, is-- to borrow Felix's descriptive language-- an unrepentant  _ asshole _ as a bed partner.

Seteth refuses to let her come. The absolute bastard even dares to pretend he doesn't hear her beg and plants little love bites against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs instead. When she thinks she's able to catch her breath, he catches her eye,  _ smirks _ , and lowers his head back down.

He's done-- is  _ still-  _ doing things with his tongue she's never imagined possible and sends her careening towards an orgasm unlike any she's ever experienced before. Her toes curl, face hot as he stokes the fire in her blood with every stroke of his tongue until she is ready to explode. Byleth is ready and eagerly awaits the end.

But the end doesn't arrive.

She writhes in his grasp, gasping for air as she tries to drag him closer, to push him away, to do  _ something _ other than be pinned in place. If he didn't back off and let her come, she was going to kill him in cold blood. She was going to absolutely  _ murder _ him and not be even a little sorry and not even Rhea would be able to blame her-

His head lifts again and she cries out. Her hands try to push him back down. She was so,  _ so _ close that time and if he just keeps his mouth moving she'll manage to get what he's keeping out of reach. He slides back up and Byleth can taste herself on his lips and tongue as he swallows her curses and protests. She feels his fingers skim over the curve of her hip and down her upper thigh. His fingers sink into her and she lifts her hips to grind against his palm. She feels the sting of his teeth against her lip and he breaks away from her long enough to speak.   


The word he says is unfamiliar but the tone of command is distinctly  _ not _ as he curls his fingers inside her and her entire world goes white.

\--

Seteth watches the way she writhes as he brings her to the edge and denies her at the last moment. The way her calm, collected personality breaks down little by little as she is denied release and a gleam of madness and fury sparks in her eyes. He is unrepentant; several hundred  _ years _ without so much as the hint of desire for another only to have her meticulously throw his world straight into the fires of hell deserves a little retaliation.

He wouldn't have it any other way, he thinks, and presses his lips against the smooth column of her throat. Having a warm body in his arms once again is a reminder of happier days. He's missed the closeness and intimacy more than the deed itself, though he is nonetheless pleased that his ability to pay attention and bring a woman's body alight has not faded with lack of practice.   


This rundown shack in the middle of a howling blizzard is the perfect setting for his private concert: starring himself as both conductor and musician with Byleth's body and voice as his instrument. He knows it's forbidden to speak the language of his childhood in anything but formal ceremonies within the Church and spitefully casts that aside. This  _ is _ a blessing from the divine to the earthly and a sacred ritual older than even his bloodline and that of his mother’s.   


With that firmly in mind, Seteth orders her release with a single word growled low in her ear.

Her response, her  _ voice _ as she comes is nothing short of exquisite and her fingernails scour his back and shoulders. Seteth can do nothing but laugh at her as she comes undone in his hands. No longer would he allow stoicism from her when they were alone together and a part of him is already considering measures to take within his office to ensure they are not disturbed once they return to the monastery. Control is in his nature and he is the master of it on and off the battlefield.

She rides the waves as they ebb and flow and he waits a precious handful of seconds before building her right back up and shattering her all over again. He loves the way her fingers dig into his body and she tries to climb into his skin, how her body squeezes against him as she comes for a second and third time at his command. The perks of a long life and centuries of isolation have given him time to study his adversaries and their makeup. None of which are dissimilar in many ways to his own current form, but are more fragile and, in many ways, a good deal more sensitive than he is accustomed to.

She may be a demon on the battlefield and in the classroom, but a demon pales in comparison to a living, breathing  _ Saint _ .

\--

There’s a word he continues whispers into her ear as she’s pleading with him for release. A different one than the growled command he gives her every time he  _ does _ let her come and it takes her pleasure-addled mind a good deal of time to realize it’s a name. It’s a brief moment where she wonders  _ whose _ name it is he’s saying other than her own. As close to fucked stupid-- a term she thought was merely a  _ joke _ by the mercenary troupe she’d been raised by-- as she is, Byleth eventually recognizes the name and draws the connection. Seteth and Cichol, as well as Flayne and Cethleann, were one and the same.   


He wants her to say his name-- his  _ true _ name.

She is so sensitive by the time Seteth finally enters her that she comes  _ again _ shortly after. Awash in a sea of sensation, she clings to him. He is the rock in the storm, the stable ground she can hold on to while he makes her entire world fall to pieces. They are united, of one body at last, and there is something that feels so natural it’s overwhelming. His mouth is against her throat, her collarbone, along the swell of her breast, and against her ear while his tongue traces its shape. Heat blooms wherever he grazes or bites down along her skin and there’s liquid fire in her veins with every stroke, every thrust of his hips.

He is the only thing keeping her together. He’s the one responsible for her undoing.   


Every time she feels as though the end is near, he slows down, he backs off until she’s just about recovered her senses before he drives her back to the edge. Over and over again until she’s half-sobbing and pleading with him, begging him to just let her come already. Sometimes he allows her to do so and his mouth is  _ always _ against her throat when she cries out. Other times he cruelly leaves her wanting until he’s ready to let her once more.

She’s never been the type to be loud in or out of the bedroom, but the things Seteth has done to her body, and  _ continues _ to do, draws it out time and time again. Her teeth find his shoulder as the next orgasm rips through her with a vengeance. She hears him snarl in response, his thrusts intensifying even as she holds him tight to her. A small victory on her part, as he’s done nothing but control when, where, and what they’ve been doing since the moment she kissed him to shut him up.

Time no longer exists. There is just herself, Seteth, and a world of pleasure where their skin comes into contact with one another. Never before has someone so intuitively  _ known _ how to please in the way he has and it frightens her as much as it thrills her to know how easily he can play with her body. The muscles in his back grow taut beneath her hands and his grasp upon her tightens. His breathing grew harsh, quick, and she knows he’s at the end of  _ his _ control. She seizes the moment in the way any tactician worth a damn would:

She turns her head so that her mouth is by that pointed ear of his and  _ orders _ Cichol to come for her.   


\--

The blanket that started this entire mess is draped over them both as they recover. Seteth finds himself content beyond words as he lays with his arms wrapped protectively around Byleth. Her legs and his are intertwined, their bodies still joined together, and there are moments where he cannot tell where he ends and she begins. His hands continue to gently roam and rub up the length of her back as she fights the urge to sleep and leaving him awake and alone. His lips find her forehead and linger there.

“Sleep.” It’s still an order, but lovingly spoken rather than authoritative. Her eyes struggle to open as she looks up to argue with him. He leans down and brushes his mouth against hers again to quell any arguments.

“Sleep,” he tells her again. “I will wake you in time for morning watch.” She’s much too tired to protest to any significant degree, he made certain of  _ that _ , and grumbles at him before giving into sleep.   


Seteth smiles and allows himself a few more moments of indulgence to appreciate the way her messy hair falls into her face and over her curve of her shoulder, the weight of her arm draped over his hip beneath the blanket, and how right it feels to have her tucked against him. They fit together nicely and compliment each other well in areas he has not expected. He is strict and unyielding, she is adaptable and quick to censure those who step out of line regardless of their rank. He’s prone to moments of emotional display while she is notoriously difficult to read even in a crisis.   


Seteth has centuries of experience and knowledge.

Byleth has centuries ahead of her in which to learn and grow.   


_ My wife would have liked you. _ The thought springs to mind unbidden and he feels a moment of panic bolt through him. There is still a good amount of guilt where Flayn’s mother is concerned and his utter ineptitude that nearly killed the three of them. He wasn’t good enough, wasn’t strong enough, and his wife had perished as a result of it. Flayn had nearly succumbed to her injuries as well but had managed to pull through after centuries of sleep. After the panic and guilt fade, Seteth is left with the thought alone and understands that it’s a simple truth.

His wife would have liked Byleth very much. In another world, one where she may have been born a mere human girl to two human parents, they may have even become friends. His wife had been warmer, more outgoing in her kindness than the woman sleeping with her head pillowed on his arm and shoulder happened to be, but they held a similar stubbornness and determination that carried them through their darkest hours. She never liked the idea of a blade and had dedicated herself, much like Flayn, to the art of magic so that none would be able to approach too closely. Healing magic and black magic alike were her specialties, and he knows all too well that Flayn has begun looking into the more offensive spells that magic has to offer to be of help to their forces. He doesn’t like it, but he watches Byleth guard the most important person he has in his life as though it is the most natural thing to do in and out of the battlefield.   


Seteth isn’t sure how she does it, but she balances his need to know his daughter is safe with the understanding that Flayn requires her independence and a chance to grow and prove herself as an individual.   


As he watches her chest rise and fall in slumber, he finds himself understanding why Seiros is so determined to entrust everything they have worked for to her. There is nothing of Sothis, of their mother’s mannerisms, in Byleth. The hair and eye color, changed as they are, hardly resemble her and none of Sothis’ peculiarities or mannerisms have bled through in the way that Seiros has hoped for. Their mother will never return, of this he is certain of regardless of Seiros’ attempts to prove him otherwise, but she has sent them a candidate for leadership-- and more-- should they heed the grave errors of their past and the warnings littering the current climate offer. He doesn’t believe that Byleth will ever change in the cynical manner he himself has. From what he sees of her, Byleth will always choose to use the opportunity to teach someone the error of their ways, to allow them to realize there is growth in ways other than the areas in which they are accustomed to, and allow them to struggle. 

But they will never struggle alone; they will grow with someone to guide them along the way.   


_ Cichol…! _

He will never forget the way she said his name and once she’s had a little rest, Seteth intends on hearing it a few more times before their tryst comes to an end.


	11. All We Know (Edelgard x M Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was bad enough that Edelgard had to spend the night alone in the middle of a snowstorm, but did Fate truly have to torment her further?

_ Round Three stars Edelgard and Male!Byleth. This takes place in Silver Snow’s route. As usual, thank you for reading, requests, and all the faves and reviews! The list of pairings and scenarios keeps growing, so this won’t be the last by far! _

_ \-- _

This is, without a doubt, the single most asinine failure Edelgard has ever endured in her short life.   


Getting ambushed had been bad enough. To be ambushed not by the Alliance or Kingdom’s ragtag forces or even the  _ Church _ ’s Knights of Seiros, but a measly band of  _ thieves _ and sent running for her life? This was beyond the pale.

Back and forth, back and forth, she keeps pacing as she waits for Hubert to retrieve her. It’s been several hours now and he has yet to arrive. If anyone is going to know exactly where she is at all times? It’s him. He has her position, he  _ has _ to have her location marked magically, and yet he isn’t  _ there _ . Edelgard storms from one end of the small shack to the other, her boots loud against the rickety floor as she reaches the wall and glares at the storm raging outside. She is not prepared for such weather and the temperature continues to drop the longer time passes her by.   


She’s not prepared to spend the night alone with nothing but her own thoughts, fears, and insecurities to keep her company either. Something must have happened to Hubert and  _ that _ terrifies her all the further.  _ No. He is merely inconvenienced at the moment. He  _ will _ come for _ _ me_. That is the only acceptable answer she has. He may need to recover or otherwise regain his strength enough to make the journey and she will faithfully accept that as the explanation behind his tardiness.

Back to pacing it is, at least the exercise is doing her some small amount of good and keeps her warm. There’s nothing on her that will help distract her from the storm. She could ensure that Amyr is meticulously cleaned and cared for for the umpteenth time, but worries over-cleaning the relic might very well break it and leave her defenseless when she cannot afford to be the most.

“When will you end?” She asks the storm. It’s childish to a degree, but hearing  _ something _ , even her own voice, is better than oppressive silence. She’s had enough silence, enough screaming in her life to carry her through the rest of her life regardless of how long or short it may be. There’s no way to wage war on nature itself or she’d be greatly tempted to just for the indignity she’s suffered thus far.

Still no sign of the weather changing. Nor of Hubert or any of her other loyal soldiers. There’s only so much watching of blowing snow in white-out conditions that one person can tolerate before they start feeling the walls closing in. Edelgard is forced to admit that she is going to spend her first night alone in years. It’s a little silly, given at one time she expressed a desire to do nothing but lounge about and eat sweets all day for a reprieve, to resent having nothing to do.

But now she realizes just how much she relied on  _ being _ busy to keep everything else at bay. Her thoughts turn toward the people who are no longer with her. To the people who fled the Empire or turned their backs on her. Turns to the people who have died both for her cause and because of it. The villagers from Remire Village and the silhouette of a tall, black and grey figure with unyielding power and gra--

Edelgard’s hand goes instantly to the dagger at her hip as something hits the door hard enough to rattle it. The dagger is still more instinctive than the axe and she hasn’t even thought of the relic for more than just a moment as she darts to the corner closest to the door. There is a distinct lack of furniture in this place and thus few places to actually  _ hide _ . The door has no bolt against it and she winces at the cold as whatever is outside manages to force it open and the snow howls through the small room.

Something stumbles in and slams the door shut, slumping down against it with heavy, ragged breaths of someone who has been moving for too long, too quickly and has run out of energy to do more than rest. She understands the sentiment and feels a brief moment of pity for the unfortunate stranger. She can’t risk it being one of the bandits or an enemy, she’ll have to eliminate them and see what they might have that could be useful to occupy her time.   


She isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, after all, and people traveled with any number of interesting odds and ends on them that could help her pass the time until Hubert can retrieve her. Or the storm ends and she can make her own way to the rendezvous point they’d initially been aiming for. Given how utterly covered from head to toe this soul happens to be, she’s almost inclined to believe it’s a snow demon from her childhood bedtime nightmares. Her siblings were often cruel and told her such tales in the night hours and she involuntarily clutches her dagger tighter.   


Holding her breath, she prepares to throw it into the place she believes its skull happens to be and freezes when the figure throws off the snow crusted hood. The faint, otherworldly green hair, the stoic face and angular features she knew all too well, and the haunting color of their eyes that see far too much of all they fall upon.   


Unchanged by the five years that have passed, the profile of the man she has--  _ had, Edelgard _ \-- come to love stared back at her. He’s instantly on guard and with the ever-present dagger at his waist in hand as well and watches her with those same eyes she’s had nightmares about for the last five years.

_ The next time our blades cross will be the last. Good-bye, my teacher. _ Edelgard had expected the final battle to be in due time after the reemergence of her former teacher at the Goddess Tower time ago. It would have been in Enbarr, of course, because that’s how all the legends and tales of heroes and villains ended; at the villain’s stronghold or the hero’s last stand against the darkness. They would have been  _ ready _ for one another’s death, for the end to come and had the courage to walk that dark and lonely path.

Not… like this. Not  _ ever _ like this. All she needed to do was strike and remove him from the equation. It was that simple and she knew it and  _ he _ knew it too. Either of them falling  _ now _ would result in morale loss, their plans crumbling to dust, and there would be no star to guide them, no light along their path, and their destruction would be assured if either life would simply  _ cease _ . The very same thoughts racing through her mind are mirrored in the green of his eyes as he stares back at her.

The entire war, they both realize, could be won right here, right now.


	12. All We Know (Edelgard x M Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communication Skills and Their Importance: A How-Not-To Guide by Edelgard von Hresvelg and Byleth Eisner.

As far as surprises go, this one ranks up there with his father being assassinated.

Between the snow, oh how he  _ hates _ the snow and the cold, and trying to pick up the shattered pieces of those he’d left behind five years ago, life was unpleasant enough. Add to it an unexpected blizzard that came down on him out of  _ nowhere _ , a rickety old shack that somehow managed to survive the aforementioned storms from earlier in the moon, and the unexpected surprise of having its sole occupant being his sworn enemy and Byleth has just about  _ had _ it for the next century. There is no reason for this level of divinely orchestrated nonsense. None.

None whatsoever and if Sothis could only speak to him, he would have a good many demands for answers as well as none too few pleas for the goddess’ advice for  _ what in the eternal flame’s name _ he is supposed to  _ do _ in this situation.

The easiest, simplest answer is to cut her down on the spot. She doesn’t have Hubert or any of her other underlings to prevent her death. She’s armed but taken off guard and he suspects she might very well  _ let him _ kill her if he moves quickly enough. Her death would end the war entirely and it would go a long,  _ long _ way to trying to piece the war torn country of Fodlan back together again. Killing her is the easiest solution, the most practical, and ultimately the most strategic one he has available to him. 

The easiest solution is not always the best. Even if it would bring about the results they wanted  _ now _ rather than later on down the line. He’s tired, he’s  _ cold _ , and he doesn’t want to spend the next untold amount of hours having to stare down at the cooling corpse of what used to be one of his beloved students and having to reflect on the thoughts  _ that _ will inevitably bring up.

Byleth sighs and sheathes his dagger. 

This apparently offends Her Royal Majesty. “What- what do you think you are doing? I am your  _ enemy _ .” 

“Yes, you are.” He acknowledges this and studies the layout of the room they’re in with a grimace. A fire would have been lovely, but there’s no way in hell he trusts the rundown fireplace to work as intended and he’s not really keen on having the gods damned shack burn down around him. He’s seen people die to smoke inhalation and burn alive; he’s not willing to die that way himself. It’s big enough that they can stay on opposing sides of the structure without having to cross into one another’s space, which suits him just fine, but not enough so where they aren’t going to be painfully aware of one another’s presence.

This is not fine and he really has no choice but to just deal with it or face the alternative. 

“Why did you put away your weapon?” Edelgard demands. It used to be funny when she’d get so indignant over some slight or another. If he bothered to look at her, he could probably see the way her violet eyes were narrowed and the color of her cheeks deepened to a pink bordering on red in fury. 

There’s no good way of explaining to your enemy that they’re only alive because you’re not in the mood to sit with their dead body until the storm passes. Byleth settles on another approach instead. “That dagger should have been in my throat the moment I entered the building.” His eyes flick to her position and hold there. His voice is colder than he wishes it was. “I don’t remember you being one to hesitate, Your Majesty, and  _ you _ are in  _ enemy _ territory.”

He waits a moment before delivering the final blow. “Why am I still alive?”

She always has been one of the brightest students from her days in the Academy, but in many ways she’s still young and inexperienced in the ways of the world. Having her own question turned back on her, in greater detail, is  _ not _ something she is accustomed to. She looks at the dagger in her hand, back to him, and to the dagger again before it too is sheathed like his own. An interesting choice, but he’s not willing to inquire after her reasons.

Silence fills the space between them. Byleth is busy studying what’s on his half of the shack to make use of and Edelgard… well, Edelgard is watching  _ him _ . There’s pretty well nothing; a couple of chairs that would break beneath the weight of his armor, a table that’s probably the sturdiest thing in the room, and the stone fireplace. All in all, not the best of conditions and not the worst he’s been up against in his life.

“You never answered my question.” 

Byleth doesn’t look her way as he removes the saturated coat and starts to hang it up on a nearly invisible peg beaten into the wall. “I wasn’t aware that an answer was necessary.” 

He hears a sharp intake of breath and something old he thought long buried rises back to the surface. Thankfully, he’s the master of maintaining a neutral expression and doesn’t give any sign that the noise she made just now amused him greatly. 

“And what is  _ that _ supposed to mean?” She never was easy to tease, but when someone managed to get under her skin  _ just _ enough… the results were well worth it. 

“It means I do not answer to the Empire, Your Majesty.” It’s cruel of him to thrust that verbal blade home and he knows this, but her entire decision to just write him, her former classmates, and the monastery off as lost causes is crueler still and he hasn’t forgiven her for that. He may never be able to, given the pain he sees on a daily basis, and the way the people who cared about her continue to fall apart.

He regrets what he’s said not even a moment after the words leave his mouth. Staying near her any longer would only increase the tension between them until one or both of them said or did something they’d regret. It might even lead to one of them being killed and, as he’s said before, he’s not willing to sit there and stare at another corpse of someone he used to know. Byleth grabs the wet coat and throws it back over his shoulders. 

This is going to be worse than the storm that hit when he was thirteen and yet the storm is still preferable to the alternative.

His hand is on the latch when Edelgard’s voice barks out behind him. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

That one, at least, he can answer.  He glances over his shoulder at her for a brief moment before turning away. Looking at her face is painful. “Somewhere else.”

“There’s a  _ blizzard _ outside.”

“I noticed.” He can feel the scowl from here. 

“Don’t be flippant.” There’s annoyance in her voice. “That storm is only going to get worse, do you really think that you’ll be able to survive out there equipped as you are?”

She’d have a fair point if he weren’t accustomed to this weather and worse during his days with Jeralt. “It isn’t the worst storm I’ve faced. I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not the point, Professor-” 

He turns to see the way she’s stiffened up, one hand over her mouth as though she didn’t intend for it to slip the way it had. Some old habits died harder than others and Edelgard’s eyes quickly averted from his. Byleth waits a moment or two more before he inclines his head and turns back to the door. That settles everything as far as he’s concerned; both of them are in danger of betraying what is most dear to them with every passing moment they stay in each other’s presence. He needs to go, and she needs to be the one who stays here.  
  
Byleth stiffens as a dagger whistles past and slams into the thick wood of the door with a solid  _ thunk _ beside his ear. 


	13. All We Know 3 (Edelgard x M!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard and The Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Pick-Up Line.

Few people have ever vexed her so completely that she loses control over herself.

Rhea is one of them. Hubert is another and probably deserves the number one spot on the list. The Professor, her beloved teacher,  _ Byleth _ … he ranks somewhere in between those two with a distinctive threat to her retainer’s position on the list on most days. He is a fascinating mix of mystery, intrigue, and pitiable sorrow that she feels on a personal level. Just like her, he’s a weapon of someone else’s creation and a puppet made to dance to another’s tune rather than his own fate. Unlike her, however, he seems content with his lot in life and she cannot help but despise him for it.

Right now, he’s the most infuriating  _ thing _ she has ever encountered in her short life and she wants nothing more than to punish him for it.  


The dagger leaves her hand before she can really register that it’s there and gone. She sees it sail through the air and slam home into the wood beside his head. A distant, rational, part of her is incredibly pleased by the throw-- she’s always been a fair hand with axes, but daggers are lighter and trickier and it really  _ was _ a beautiful throw worthy of praise-- as well as the wide eyed look of shock on Byleth’s face when he turns to look at her. She can practically see the ‘did you just do what I think you did?’ question as loudly as though he’d said it aloud on his face.

Not for the first time does she thank her heavy clothing and armor for hiding the way her legs tremble with every step. Her hands clench and unclench into fists to mask the way they shake the closer she gets to him. There is something about him that always makes her  _ weak _ . An aura that he radiates that makes her want to throw herself at him, curl into a ball, and just give him everything she is, has been, and ever will be to let him do as he wishes with. To surrender everything she has carried for so long into his care and allow him to carry it just long enough for her to catch her breath.

He makes her question every decision she has made, every last thought that has plagued her and keeps her moving forward on her destined path, without even trying and she  _ hates _ him for it.

Her hand slams the barely opened door shut with a decisive  _ thud _ and keeps it there. She’s close enough to see the snow still clumped, and melting, against his clothing and armor and the way his throat works as he glowers down at her. It occurs to her a moment later that he too has doubts and his attempt to leave her alone in the shack is his excuse for  _ not _ having their battle to the death here and now. His face, once again, has been untouched by time. Sure there are shadows under his eyes where there never used to be and there’s something about the familiar way he keeps his body specifically angled that she can’t put her finger on.

“You aren’t going anywhere while the blizzard is active.” She informs him with a tone she’s borrowed from some of his lectures in the past.

He’s defiant in all the ways she both loves and hates as he tries to open the door in spite of her hand keeping it shut. She leans harder. He jerks at the latch and tries to pull it anyway. They do this back and forth a few times until he hauls back on the door with all his considerable strength and loses his grip on it. His feet scramble beneath him and he slips on the growing puddle beneath his feet.  


She moves without thinking and catches him before he can hit the ground. Edelgard stares down at her beloved professor, her hand holding firm against his bicep and length of her arm arm supporting his back as though she were frozen mid-dip for a dance. His eyes are wide with shock for the third time in less than an hour’s time and hers are pretty wide themselves in return. There a number of things she’s learned from this unexpected encounter and the biggest of them isn’t the fact that she’s physically  _ stronger _ than he is.

It’s that he’s… he’s so  _ light _ .  


Certainly he is likely nothing but whipcord muscle and strength beneath the armor he wears, but she always thought of him as solid and unyielding. Someone who cannot be pushed past unless they wish to be stricken down. But she expected that strength to translate to… something other than what she’s realizing now.

She should say  _ something _ to him. Anything would be acceptable so long as they stopped just staring at one another like two frozen statues lost to time.

“Falling for me, Professor?”  


Edelgard was going to drop him, take a knee, and insist he end her cursed existence immediately for the sake of all of Fodlan.

There is no redemption for her; not after saying  _ that _ horrific line, not for the crimes she’s committed in the name of peace, and  _ has she mentioned for saying something so… so boorish _ ?

She watches Byleth’s face go from shocked to consternation in a handful of seconds. He has no idea what to say to that and it both thrills her and makes her want to die a little bit more the longer he  _ doesn’t _ say anything.  


“That headdress of yours must be cursed.” Byleth finally tells her. “It’s squeezing your skull, I thought I heard--”

“Pretend you did  _ not  _ hear it.”

“Not happening.” There’s a begrudging smile in the professor’s voice and she is afraid of his genuine smile for what it does to her.  


She’s also not letting him get away with that cheeky remark. “I must insist.”

“I will not forget the day the Empress of the Adrestian Empire used one of House Gautier’s infamous pick-up lines.”

Maybe she’s going to execute  _ him _ instead and end the war after all. Edelgard glowers down at him and shakes him in warning. “Surrender the memory willingly or I’ll take it by force.”

There it is. That smirk that she so rarely saw back in the Academy days when he’d tease her to the point she realized she was reacting as someone her age  _ should _ have versus someone of her esteemed position. He’s  _ laughing _ at her without actually laughing. She can see it in the glint of his eyes and the way the corners of his mouth curve just a little too far upward to remain neutral. He doesn’t think of her as being able to carry through with her threat.  


If he believes she is taking a page from House Gautier’s infamous heir and his excessively flirtatious ways? Well, he has set an incredibly low standard and she is about to blow him clear out of the water with just how bold she _can_ be. She hefts him up a little closer, his arm instinctively goes up and slings around her neck to brace himself for impact. _How cute, he thinks I’m going to throw him_ _and thinks to take me down with him_.  


Her free hand catches him by his finely sculpted chin and tilts his head up a little. “Allow me to show you, Professor, how the Hresvelg Royal Family has remained in power for so many centuries.”

Before Edelgard loses her nerve, she leans in and captures his mouth with her own.


	14. All We Know Final(Edelgard x M Byleth)

_ Definitely M content here. Big time lemon/heavy citrus content warning, please be of age when reading or skip over. Thank you. _

\--

Every time he thinks he has her figured out, she does something to throw him for a loop. Her aggression in seeking revenge for Jeralt's death-- she knew the people responsible and their plans and  _ chose _ to work with them-- and moments of fear he sees when she thinks no one can see. Her strong will and determination conflicting with the desire to just enjoy her time in the Academy the way her fellow nobility did five years ago. The weight of lives sacrificed drowning her future versus her desire to  _ live _ freely and recklessly just for one day. The effortless way she ordered her troops to invade the Holy Tomb and ransack it.

Declaring war on the Church of Seiros and the invasion of Garreg Mach.

He shivers as the tip of her tongue traces his lower lip again and again until he opens for her. His hand moves from somewhere near her shoulder-- he hadn’t expected her to  _ kiss _ him, he’d expected her to  _ throw him _ down or something equally practical-- to the back of her neck and held fast. As close as they used to be-- he’d watched her coronation, for crying out loud-- and how much she claimed to have trusted him… how had it all come down to this?

A kiss in a blizzard.   


She breaks the kiss when his fingers tighten against her shoulder. Her eyes a darker shade than they were before, her cheeks trying to give her armor a run for their money, and her expression defiant and challenging.   


His lips feel swollen, puffy even and he runs his tongue across them to wet them out of habit. Her eyes follow the motion with interest. It takes him a minute to catch his breath and his thoughts.

"That's the problem, isn't it, Professor?" Edelgard comments softly as she burns his face into her memory. "We both think too much. We think and think and think, and we never take action quick enough to make it truly matter."

She's right, of course, and they both know it.   


It should stop here.   


His hand moves from her shoulder to the back of her head, nimble fingers finding the catch to that stupid headdress of hers and unlatching it. It clatters to the ground with a series of thuds. Real gold, probably, and heavy at that.

This dalliance of theirs should stop with that kiss.

Her fingers slide up the curve of his jaw to tuck his hair behind his ear. The padded fingers and the palm of her glove is rough against his skin as it gently cradles his face as though he is fragile and precious; a treasure to be held delicately lest it shatter with too firm a touch.

Not a step, not a single thing more than that one kiss.

"Byleth."

"What…?" She's confused.

He manages to find the pins keeping her hair braided and coiled up in the bun on either side of her head. He thieves the gold bits from their place and lets them fall to the ground like he had her headdress. Her hair is soft against his skin and smells of rosewater and a touch of woodsmoke.   


He wonders if her skin is as soft as her hair.

"My name." He says finally, tracing the features of his once-student as though they were meeting for the first time.

"I want to hear you say my name."

The color on her cheeks darkens and her eyes widen for a brief moment. She chuckles after that and leans down close enough that their lips are close enough to brush.

They really,  _ really _ should stop before they can't turn back.

_ We think too much. _ Edelgard had told him. They thought too much, planned too far ahead, and left no room for mistakes or errors. No room to breathe or to indulge in something selfish and mindless.

"Give me a reason to." She purrs and seizes his mouth before he can respond. It isn't difficult, a little awkward maybe, to lower them both to the floor. She remains the dominant one, the one in control and keeps his back against the floor for the time being.   


His hands make short work of the thick cloak attached to heavy pauldrons. And they go clanking against the floor to join the cloak a few moments later.   


\--

Her hands do the same, stripping him of the coat, the thick leather-- she thought all this time he wore steel like the rest of them-- cuirass and the padded jacket beneath it. Edelgard removes her gloves with her teeth and spits them out, an unlady-like move on her part, a moment later.

Decorum and proper etiquette be damned; she needs to  _ feel _ him. His skin against her palms and fingers. The warmth and cold of his body, the texture of his scars she knows lay beneath cloth and leather, shape of his muscles… his  _ hands _ in her own and against  _ her _ body.

Her hands undo the buttons of her surcoat and toss the armored fabric to the side. Her chainmail hauberk is a lot more difficult to struggle out of without breaking it-- Hubert would scold her for  _ hours _ if she shattered this one too-- and she curses when her hair gets caught in some of the links. She yanks and curses a second time as several of the detestable white hairs are pulled from her scalp. Edelgard tosses the armor to the wide with a jangle of metal and sends the padded undercoat right along with it.   


He's removed his bracers and gloves as well and she can't stop fixating on his hands long enough to do anything about the way he's stopped removing his armor and other useless items only getting in their way. She needs his hands on her skin. Needs his skin against hers.

"Edelgard," He begins and she stops him with a finger against his lips.

No.

Not now. Not after they've come this far. They can't look back now.

"No." She tells him gently and laces the fingers on her free hand through his. So powerful and strong, these hands of his, and they are  _ cold _ in comparison to her own. Edelgard lifts their joined hands and draws them close, pressing her lips against his knuckles.   


Devotion. Respect. Yearning.

Neither of them wanted to stop. Edelgard realizes in the span of a heartbeat. They were both highly intelligent and logical minded people. They knew what was at stake and what the logical thing to do  _ was _ .

Logic be damned, this was more important

She thought the dismantling of the Church and all it stands for is what she desires the most. But here, now, with him there and her where she is and a million different ideas of how this night could play out… she doesn't know anymore.

Edelgard still wants the destruction, but she wants to see  _ him _ undone because of her more. She wants to tear him apart the way he keeps tearing her resolve like wet paper every time they meet.

She wants him to utterly destroy  _ her _ and to destroy him.

She looks at him through her lowered lashes and moves her finger away from his lips with a small caress of the kiss swollen lower lip. He follows her every move and she undoes the laces on the bodice of her tunic. His cheeks flush with color and she feels the smile on her face widen.

They could stop here. They  _ should  _ stop here.

"El." She tells him and feels her heart break all over again. She knows this won't last. This will never repeat itself and she will be greatly punished for this sin of hers.

She will pay the price, gladly, if she can just have this  _ one _ moment. This stolen dream that is hers and his and  _ theirs _ alone for a short eternity. The wretched Goddess who ruled Fódlan could try and strike her down for defiling her precious Chosen.

But right now? That Chosen, that special, sacred existence, was  _ hers _ .

"Just for tonight, Professor, call me El."

\--

His throat is bone dry and he forgets to breathe when Edelgard throws her tunic off to join the rest of her clothes and armor. Naked from the waist up and her long hair the only shield against his gaze, he can see the flush of color beneath her skin the longer he stares at her and says, or does, nothing.   


She has a multitude of scars, badly healed and old, purple against her fair skin. Especially prominent at her wrists and crook of the elbow, Byleth pulls their joined hands to him to examine them closer, brow furrowing in displeasure at the thickness of the scar tissue there.

He looks closer and sees the darker indentations at the base of wrist and more still up at the inner elbow. Experiments. The results of her flesh being torn open again and again.

He believed her when she'd spoken to him five years ago about what had been done to her. How could he not when she revealed her second Crest?

But seeing,  _ feeling _ the aftermath of what was done to her is another matter altogether and he hates what he sees and feels.

He brings her wrist to his mouth and presses his lips against the scars. The living proof of her nightmares that he imagined continue to plague her even now. Even with a budding talent in white magic, these are scars he can't erase and they, and the memories they represent, are the whip that drives her ever-onward in her blood-soaked path.

He opens his eyes to see her reaction.

Edelgard is as vulnerable as he'll ever see her. Her eyes are wide and bright with tears she's too stubborn to shed. Her free hand covers her mouth and she looks as though she wants to say something to him just as much as she's at a loss for what  _ to _ say.

"El." He murmurs the name she wants him to call her by against her wrist and presses a second kiss against the scars.

She has him back against the cold damn floor a split second later. She releases his hand to fist both of hers into his hair. Her mouth is hungry, desperate against his and all he can think about is the fact that he needs to join Raphael in gaining more muscle and strength because this whole 'getting pinned to the floor by a young woman whose head he can rest his chin on top of' thing is  _ not _ cool with him.

He wraps one arm around the small of her back to hold her close. His free hand reaches up and brushes her hair-- it and her skin exactly as soft as he expected it to be-- out of her face. His thumb offers little strokes against her cheekbone, wiping away the tears both of them pretend aren't there.

\--

If he keeps treating her as though she is something fragile, Edelgard is going to hit him or break down crying. Maybe both at the same time.   


She thought her frenzied, aggressive movements would inspire the same in return. A fierce passion that, like her lifespan, would burn hot and bright and lasts for as long as it took for both of them to be satisfied with the other's body. A memory to keep them both warm at night long after whichever of them would die when their blades next crossed.

Instead he's bringing every last one of her deep-seated insecurities to the surface and crushing them with each brush of his lips or touch of his fingers and thumb. There's a moment in which her scars so much in her vision it truly looks as though he has erased them entirely and she both loves and  _ hates _ him for it.

This is why she needs him-- at her side-- dead and buried in a grave only she knows the location of so she can mourn him for the rest of her short life.

She forces him back down and begins her conquest of his body anew. Her lips and teeth leave marks behind as she moves down his body, feels the way his pulse jumps beneath her mouth and smirks against his skin. He is not her first even if she'd fantasized about that night more often than she would ever confess to.   


That moment was the result of a little too much wine after a night of mourning and she'd crossed a forbidden line with both Hubert  _ and _ Dorothea. Together.

Dorothea still hadn't let her live it down and was painfully obvious about her invitations to join them again as a result. Hubert, ever her trusted and stoic attendant, was of similar opinion even if he wouldn't dare say such a thing aloud.

She was merciless in teasing  _ him _ too and that was the only consolation Edelgard had in the entire matter. If they lived through this, she would practically  _ beg _ the two to marry-- with her blessing-- and give her peace as a result.

His stomach hitched beneath her tongue and she paused. Lifted her head to admire the scarlet color on his face in direct contrast with the hateful green of his hair. It resembles Rhea's far too much for her liking. She'd rather liked the teal from before and the purple of his eyes too.

She ran her fingers against his stomach and delighted in the clench and flex of the muscles beneath. Edelgard made sure his eyes were on her as she freed his cock from his trousers. Her lips curved up in a coy smile as the color of his eyes darkened, pupils dilating as her hands massage the inside of his thighs. She blows against the tip and watches him  _ hiss _ between clenched teeth.   


She pulls her hair back and out of her face as he starts to lean up. Before he has a chance to reach down and drag her up to him-- she can see the intent in his body language-- Edelgard takes Byleth's cock into her mouth and sets about trying to bring her beloved professor to ruin.

\--

His hips roll up as her mouth-- hot and wet and  _ Goddess take him _ \-- wraps around him. He says something profane and terrible and the way the vibrations of her laugh against his dick feel is enough to thrust into her without warning. She chokes, startled, and he apologizes from between clenched teeth.

The little bitch responds by doing something with her tongue against the underside of his head that makes him do it again-- and she doesn't choke this time.

Her mouth comes off his head with a little  _ pop _ as she gives him a stern look. "You're holding back."

He gives her a look that says he doesn't know what she's talking about and his cock jerks in response to the air and proximity to her mouth.   


She looks at him, down to his dick, and back. The little smile from before comes back with a glint in her violet eyes that worries him as much as it sends a thrill down his spine.

"El-"

He swears, louder this time, as she wraps her lips around him once more.   


His hands tighten into fists at the suction of her mouth and strokes of her tongue. His toes curl and he hazily remembers he hasn't removed his boots. His head tilts back, eyes squeezing shut until there's bright spots in his vision.   


He sees the way her breasts sway with every bob of her head-- he will have his hands and mouth full with them before the night is done-- and the look in her eyes as she continues to watch his every move. She really is like her former House symbol; her eyes always watching, weighing, and calculating every move someone else makes like the bird of prey.

His eyes open as cold air hits his flesh where the warmth of her mouth used to be. Her hands are calloused from her continued use of her chosen weapon and strong as she wraps one hand around the base of his shaft and uses the combination of spit and precum to stroke his cock. The pad of her thumb swipes across his leaking head every few strokes and he thrusts up into her grasp with a groan.

He can  _ feel _ the weight of her gaze, unwavering and unyielding, on his face. His breath comes out in short, ragged pants as he opens his eyes in time for her to lean down and drag her tongue from the base, along the underside of his shaft, and swipe over the tip. Byleth's mind goes blank and he dimly hears himself snarl in response to something she says to him. His hips jerk and his seed splatters against her hand and face. His cock softens in her hand and he barely manages to keep from falling back against cold floor.   


Blinking sweat out of his eyes, Byleth watches the smug Empress as she maintains eye contact and licks the white fluid off her hand.

He swears she'll kill him by the end of the night and reaches for her with one shaking hand.

\--

She swears she'll kill him by the end of the night as she grinds against his mouth.   


Edelgard is used to being serviced and her body worshipped, but this is too much. His head between her thighs, his hair tickling her sensitive skin, and his tongue tracing arcane symbols against her clit. His hands dig into her thighs hard enough to bruise and keep her from involuntarily smothering him every time he drives her to the edge and backs off just before she gets there.

Although if he  _ keeps _ her from her well deserved release, she's going to smother him anyway and his death will be entirely at her hands in the most humiliating way she can muster.

"What are," she sucks in a sharp breath and hears the strangled moan slip past before she can help herself as he completes another symbol. "you  _ doing _ ?"

He lifts his head, mouth wet and slick as he offers her the little lopsided smirk she finds so infuriating yet endearing. "Writing." His head turns enough that he can nip at the inside of her thigh. He demonstrates again, tongue against her skin as he traces…  _ something _ before giving her a lift of his eyebrow in challenge.

Can she figure it out? His expression asks--  _ taunts _ \-- her before his hands pull her thighs back and his mouth and tongue return to driving her out of her damned mind.

Gritting her teeth, Edelgard rises to the challenge and focuses on what his tongue is doing. Long stroke down. Circle up from the bottom. Another circle just above that before his tongue parts her folds and strokes her from within.

He does this in between the letters-- she knows after she recognizes the shape of a 'y' -- and keeps switching things up enough to make it difficult on her.   


It takes her until the 't' to realize he's writing his  _ name _ against her clit. It takes a monumental amount of willpower to force her body away from his mouth and she nearly weeps in frustration. Enough is enough; she will have him,  _ now _ , and he will stoke the fever in her blood no more.   


She slides further down his body, her hands seize his wrists as she settles herself in his lap. She can taste herself on him-- not unpleasant-- as she licks a path from his chin to slide her tongue between his parted lips.   


Understanding dawns in his eyes as she leans up, begrudgingly allowing him the use of one hand to get himself into position, and lowers down. His curses are snarled, idle threats and dark promises made to her as her body adjusts to having him inside her.   


She's still remembering how to breathe her when his hips roll up and he thrusts deeper into her. Her hand squeezes his and releases to try and stabilize herself against his stomach and chest. Edelgard realizes her mistake a moment too late as his hands settle firmly on her hips and the glint in his eye suggests she's in for a world of trouble.

_ This is not how it went with Hubert and Dorothea. _ There is reverence there, yes, and there is affection and devotion too. But there is a cruelty in the hard, fast thrusts that she can't put a name to and was decidedly absent from the… dalliances with the aforementioned two. He's  _ punishing _ her. There is anger there as he drives into her until she's sobbing--  _ sobbing! _ \-- for release and stops entirely.   


She cries out as he slips out of her. She can't find a way to regain the control she had in the beginning and he positions her on her hands and knees. The weight of him against her back is comforting as he reenters her and digs his teeth in her shoulder.

She is, as she has  _ always _ been, at Byleth's mercy.   


\--

If only there were a way to turn back the hands of time-- or stop them entirely.

Edelgard watches Byleth sleep with a contented smile on her lips. She is  _ sore _ and satiated for now. Anything more would be more pain than pleasure and now she can sit in the afterglow. She wore him out and he nearly brought  _ her _ to ruin in the process. No doubt she will bear his marks proudly for as long as they will linger on her skin. It's regretful that they will fade and she will miss the way they look on her.   


He really shouldn't have been so careful with her, she'd have liked those marks to last.

Some of those she made on him won't fade near so quickly, or easily. Edelgard especially likes the look of the bite on his neck-- he'd held her close to him while her legs! wrapped around his waist-- and the bite on his hand-- he'd used his fingers instead of his cock to make her come while he bent her over the table and thought he could muffle her voice with his free hand-- the most.   


The red crescents dug into the firm flesh of his ass, five to each cheek, were also a nice touch on her part. She should have left some scores on his back too.

Every time he looks at his body, a reminder of her will be there. If he pairs with someone else, a thought that troubles and pains her, she hopes he will think of her instead. She leans down and kisses him one last time, slow and soft and lingering, before she ensures he is well covered. It wouldn't do for him to die of hypothermia. Her hand brushes his hair from the face she loves.

She was the victor in this battle.

"Good-bye, Byleth." She scarcely recognizes her own voice, raw and full of  _ love _ as it is.   


She dresses in cold clothing and colder armor while he sleeps in peace and wonders where in Fòdlan's name she managed to set her hair pins. It's not like she lacks for them, but her hair is a  _ tangled mess _ and she can't be seen so… so rumpled in public.   


Edelgard rises from looking where she thought one of them may have fallen to face the two intruders in the darkest corner of the hut. "How long have you two been here?"

Dorothea's eyes hold a similar wicked gleam to Byleth's from earlier that evening and she promises to pay Hubert handsomely to wear the songstress out. "Oh… a while now. Edie dear, I want  _ all _ the details prior to--"

"Hubert." She is not doing this right now.

Her faithful retainer is giving the sleeping Professor a look that suggests he would dearly love to stick a knife between his ribs. Not from jealousy, oh no, that was petty and beneath him. At least, she thinks it's beneath him. Sometimes Hubert worries her with the lengths he's willing to go.

"Forty minutes." Hubert takes his eyes off Byleth at the sound of his name. Edelgard's hand covers her eyes in response. He feels something like a smile twitch at his lips and takes the two women away with a flash of violet light.

Byleth waits to see if any of them, Hubert is the biggest concern and threat, return before he moves to dress himself. He doesn't know  _ when _ Hubert and Dorothea showed up-- he thinks it was near the end of Edelgard riding him the last time or just after he'd dozed off with her on his chest-- but having another set of eyes watching had been a bit of a revelation.   


If she knew they were there the entire time, she was a bigger exhibitionist than he was and he'd only  _ just _ discovered that being watched in action was a thrill. He reached over and plucked his shirt off the ground, a smug smile flashing across his face as several gold hairpins clattered to the floor.

To the victor goes the spoils, and Byleth  _ definitely _ won this battle.


	15. Save Us (House Leaders x F!Byleth)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not bored or otherwise lost drive for fic. It’s been a rough last couple of months emotionally due to the passing of a very much beloved great-grandfather and the entire process that encompasses. Forgive the lack of updates, I’m coming back slowly but surely. We’re going to be kicking off with something completely self-indulgent and I’m not apologizing.
> 
> This takes place in a what-ifverse where Byleth is late and goes looking for her students instead of meeting them, successfully, at the Goddess Tower. Some serious diversions from canon happen here and this is my fifth route, damn it. 

_ This could have gone better. _

There aren't many scenarios Byleth considers to be the worst, but the complete wreck of a situation she has in front of her absolutely takes the proverbial cake. 

There's enough tension in the air to hang half of Fòdlan's populace, noble and commoner alike, simultaneously between the three of them and it's making her skin itch. Two of the three haven't noticed her yet and the tension between them all is making her skin itch.

They're in a small hut barely big enough to give them all the semblance of breathing room with about five to seven feet of center 'neutral' ground. 

There are three varying levels of pissed off Lords and Lady still locked in a silent stalemate that's threatening to break at any given moment. 

And then the icing on this shit cake: the worst snowstorm in Fòdlan's recent history cheerfully howling just outside the door and two windows. 

_ If Seteth were here, we would have all powers represented.  _ It's not a cheerful thought and Byleth half-wishes the taciturn adviser was there to provide reason to what she anticipated would be an emotionally charged argument. Then again, Seteth could very well just see Edelgard's betrayal and nothing else and she'd be left as the sole voice of reason in the end. 

Byleth sees herself staring down the all too real possibility of a three-versus-one skirmish that would result in grievous injury, if not death. Manipulating them into something resembling a truce would be a feat in and of itself; as good as she considers herself to be as a Professor, she's not confident in her diplomacy skills or in matters concerning the finer art of parley.

Her eyes flick from ruler to ruler-- each currently tense and ready to strike from their specific corner of the room-- and finds part of the situation almost funny when compared to how she'd first met the trio of troublesome teenagers. 

Edelgard hadn't lost her analytical stare for an instant, but there was a hidden desperation to the woman's weighted gaze that hinted at false calm.

If Byleth were to push her, if she could find the crack in the woman's seemingly perfect physical and emotional armor, she might just break beneath her hands and words. 

Dimitri's hidden darkness had consumed nearly all of the earnest and sweet-natured boy she'd seen at the Academy. What remains of him from back then is still unknown to her, but the restraint he's shown thus far is enough for her to suspect he's holding himself from the madness that lies beyond by a fraying thread.

She could fight him until he yields; he would to her and potentially only her at this stage.

Claude's smile still didn't reach his eyes-- unless he's looking at her. He's been watching her whenever he thinks she isn't looking and sees the unspoken frustration and yearning there. He's been scheming for so long she knows it hasn't occurred to him to simply ask her for help. As straight-forward as he seems to be, Claude is simultaneously the easiest and most difficult of them all. 

Byleth can win him over with logic, reason, and the promise of information he may not receive otherwise.

She wishes, not for the first time, that she hadn't allowed herself to get involved. That she would have gone to the mercenaries Jeralt had left to her care and vanished from Fòdlan entirely. Could have lived without… without  _ this _ .

\--

As predicted, Dimitri is the one who breaks the stalemate and charges in for the kill. 

_ Damn it. _

The battle cry is loud enough to wake the dead and her ears are ringing as she moves in to intercept him. She's not ready for this and forces the glowing blade between them and the sound the spear makes against the Relic is enough to set her teeth on edge.

His strength is nothing to laugh at and it takes everything she has in her to counter the follow up strike and trip him up. He follows, unable to see anything but red in his vision and attacks her as though she's his greatest enemy

Maybe she is.

Byleth's not sure and neither are the rest of them as she parries and steps to the side, his spear smashes into the cold dirt floor where she stood only a few seconds prior. A flurry of movement and a good pair of shots on her part leave Dimitri doubled over, gasping for air, and she bodily shoves him hard against the wall he’d initially charged from. That, she thinks, is enough out of him for one day.

She wonders where Dedue is.

She doesn’t get to savor any sense of victory she might have had, as the presence and hand on her shoulder get the person attached-- Edelgard this time-- thrown  _ hard _ in the opposite direction. The Empress hits the ground back first and flops like a fish out of water, most undignified, and tries to figure out how to make her lungs work. 

Byleth is a little surprised to see her there and wonders what possessed her to do something so foolish as to sneak up on someone like that.

She wonders where Hubert is.

_ Two down, one left.  _ Byleth glares in the Alliance leader’s direction and feels said glare slip at the way he’s already doubled over, clutching his sides, and trying his hardest  _ not _ to let the rest of them see he’s laughing. It fails, spectacularly even, and his quiet laughter draws the attention of the two currently semi-incapacitated on the ground. 

“Claude.” She says his name in the same disapproving tone each of them had heard half a dozen times or more throughout their Academy days. 

Where are Hilda and Lorenz?

Where are the rest of their respective classmates and allies?

Where in the hells are Manuela and Hanneman?

“Sorry, Teach, I can’t help it.” He’s wiping away tears of laughter from his eyes now and attempts to pull himself together. “The first time we see one another in five years and  _ both _ of their Royal Highnesses are thrown like barrels from a cart. Priceless, I tell you.” 

"Do shut up, Claude." Edelgard’s voice is strained and still a little breathless as she responds, working to ease herself up off the ground.

Byleth looks to her and Edelgard looks away, her gaze dropped to the hand that'd settled briefly on her shoulder.

“I was only trying to help you.” Her voice is a mix of hurt and embarrassment. The Empress is telling the truth. Any time there was a difficult, or some sort of subject that embarrassed her, the Adrestian Empress always looked away from whoever she was speaking to. 

“I’m sorry.” Byleth's apology is terse but sincere. "It isn't wise to grab someone from behind so quickly after a battle, however, you are lucky it wasn't a knife or worse." The quick look Edelgard gives her and the nod she receives in turn is all there is to it.

The Edelgard she knew was still there.

Dimitri glares at both of them and opened his mouth to speak.

Byleth cuts him off. “Dimitri.” He flinches at the sound of his name. “Your form has improved, but you still favor your left side a little too much.”

Dimitri’s eye widens and his expression, just for a moment, is the exact same as the youth he used to be almost six years ago. The same wide-eyed look he had when taken off guard. In between the precious moment of surprise and the point he retreats into the anger he hides behind, she sees him replay the skirmish and absorb the feedback.

He's still there, somewhere, as well.

There's the sound of clothes rustling and a clatter of arrows in a quiver behind her. Claude offers her a lift of his hand in greeting and settles himself at her side as though it's perfectly natural and this isn't the first time he's seen her in years. The quick exchange of glances is enough for her to know he intentionally let her know he was moving closer.

If he didn't want to be heard, he wouldn't be.

Claude was still Claude, and she feels the friendly pat on the shoulder he gives through her armor.

Dimitri and Edelgard's attention is on that same hand on her shoulder. The hand lifts and she doesn't disappear before their eyes. One blue eye and two violet ones widen as realization sinks in. The former of the two looks as though someone struck him with lightning, and the latter has the most  _ painful _ kernel of hope naked on her face. 

“As you can see, Teach is alive.” Claude pauses for dramatic effect. “And, as the only person who’s currently on their best behavior out of the three of us, I believe that gives me first dibs on recruiting her for the Alliance.”


	16. Save Us 2 (Three Houses Leaders x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth feels like she's a toy being fought over by three very bratty children. She's not entirely wrong.

Claude’s words inspire a truly impressive argument between the three respective leaders.

On one hand, Byleth should feel flattered by the efforts being put into place to ensure she ends up “where she rightfully belongs”, even if the three of them have very  _ different _ ideas as to where and why that happens to be. After all, she’d watched the way two opposing parties fought over who was more deserving of Jeralt’s Mercenaries and their skills on no small number of occasions. Usually whoever had the deepest pursestrings or the better cause that Jeralt believed in would win in the end, and Byleth keeps this in mind as she listens and weighs their individual arguments over what they  _ aren’t _ saying. None of them are going to win because she’s a Professor and a Mercenary; she’s neutral and with an eye toward the future as a whole.

But it’s nice to know she’s been deeply missed and is still in high demand by her former students.

On the other hand? The fact they believe they can settle this  _ without _ her input is irritating and she understands Dorothea and Shamir’s dislike of nobility a little better than she had before. She watches and listens a little longer before her goal becomes to find the perfect opening to interrupt. They carry on for quite some time before something Edelgad says seems to throw Dimitri a little  _ too _ close to the edge. His hands clench into fists and the look on his face says he’s about to go for her throat when Byleth  _ loudly _ clears her throat and draws their attention back to her.

“It’s good to see you again.” Byleth tells them, a small smile on her lips. “All three of you.” 

Dimitri averts his gaze.

Edelgard does too.

_ Both _ of them have red on their cheeks and confirm they had forgotten she was present for the entire conversation.  _ A little humiliation would do them good in the long run _ , Byleth thinks to herself. _ Maybe then they’ll  _ learn _ to keep themselves in check around whatever, or whoever, it is they’re trying to recruit _ .

Claude looks pleased with himself and she sends him a particularly pointed look that says she knows exactly what he’s been doing and she’s not exactly happy with him. The look she gives him shifts his own expression from smug to a  _ little _ sheepish. Not ashamed. But she’ll take the victory on him where she can get it; he’s difficult on a good day to corner, much less put into place. 

Edelgard is the first one to break the short silence and changes the subject to something that doesn’t involve getting a much-needed refresher regarding person autonomy and choice. “Where have you  _ been _ ?” 

Not the question she’d anticipated or really wanted to talk about. Byleth’s smile fades. “...asleep.”

Three equally disbelieving looks are sent her way. 

Edelgard’s scowl is truly a thing to behold. “This is hardly a time for jokes, Professor.”

“Reluctant as I am to agree with a murderous  _ beast _ ,” Dimitri bites out. Edelgard flinches at the word, Claude raises an eyebrow and looks like he’d love nothing more than to comment on the irony of  _ that _ , and Byleth gives the blond king a pointed look he pretends not to see. “it has a point.”

“Sheesh you two, lighten up a little,” Claude replies and laces his fingers together at the back of his head. Green eyes flick between the two hot tempered nobles to make sure neither of them are about to make a go at  _ him _ either. “Teach has a sense of humor, in case you’ve forgotten.”

His attention turns to Byleth. She meets his gaze without hesitation and something shifts from curious to incredulous in the span of a minute. “...you’re not joking. You  _ really _ were sleeping, Teach?”

She would rather  _ not _ talk about this. Explaining why she was missing wouldn’t even begin to make sense without someone else to explain the finer details-- Manuela would be her first choice, but she’d take anyone who’d trained under the former opera star and had even the slightest hint of medical knowledge other than basic first aid training. But, she’s here and Manuela is not. She has to make the best of what she has, even if it isn’t much, and hope the three of them can be satisfied with that. 

“Something like that.” Reluctant as she is, Byleth goes over what transpired during the invasion of Garreg Mach and how she woke up being dragged out of the river. The look Dimitri shoots Edelgard is positively murderous and she shifts her weight ever so slightly to prepare to defend the Adrestian Empress from harm should she need to.

Edelgard is the first to speak and she is positively  _ furious _ . “I told them you were  _ not _ to be harmed! She must have--” 

All three of them look at her with varying degrees of disbelief and surprise. Claude, ever the one to seize an opening, cuts her off. “Okay, two questions; you told  _ who _ not to go after Teach?, and for that matter, who is this ‘She’ you speak of?”

Dimitri jumps in next, scorn and mocking in his voice. “Why believe her? She certainly didn’t mind having Sir Jeralt assassinated  _ or _ orchestrating the Tragedy of Duscur, why would the Professor be any different?”

The mentioning of Jeralt’s assassination hurt and Byleth schooled her expression carefully to avoid having it show on her face. Losing him was still fresh, even if it had been five entire years for the rest of them, and she’d lost Sothis only a month later in her desire to seek revenge. Edelgard’s betrayal had been another blow, one she’d not even begun to analyze before the invasion had transpired and she’d lost her ability to even try speaking with her to see what in the world she was doing. 

“I  _ told _ you how many times, Dimitri, I had nothing to do with Duscur.” Edelgard snaps at him. She's agitated and, unusually, on the verge of losing her composure. “I wasn’t even aware of what transpired until long after it occurred.”

“A likely story.” 

“Whether or not  _ you _ want to believe it, it’s the truth. I was--” She stopped herself from saying anything more. Looked away. “...it doesn’t matter where I was. All you need to know is I wasn’t involved and had no knowledge of what was being planned.” 

“Jeralt?” Her father’s name is still painful to even say but she does so anyway. She needs to hear it from Edelgard herself, needs to see if the woman before her truly  _ is _ an enemy or if she’s another pawn caught in something bigger than she realizes. It’s terrifying to hope for the latter and Byleth  _ desperately _ hopes she isn’t going to have to cut Edelgard down.

Edelgard’s gaze returns to her and, difficult as it is for the other woman to do so, forces herself to look her in the eyes. “I didn’t order Sir Jeralt’s death and had I known, I would have done something to stop it.” 

_ Believe me _ . Her eyes begged.  _ Please, believe me _ .

“You are  _ working _ with those same such assassins, how stupid do you think the Professor is?” Dimitri’s laugh is a hoarse, bitter thing. “You would have had him killed at a later time, just as you tried to murder us all at Garreg Mach.” 

“That is  _ not _ true.” Edelgard’s eyes are back to Dimitri and her glare is as fierce as his. “You and Claude? Yes, I wanted you removed and still do; you’re in my way,”

“Why not finish the task you failed at now, you-”

“No one is going to remove  _ anyone _ .” Byleth interrupts them before they can launch into another round of aggressive antagonizing that would lead to both of them being thrown across the room again. “The first one of you to attack  _ will _ be injured in a way that will incapacitate you, do I make myself clear?”

“She admitted her guilt, how can you just stand there as though the deaths she’s caused do not matter!” Dimitri snaps at her. “Can you not hear the voices of those who lost their lives? The innocents who wished to live and desire her to pay for what she’s done to them? You would let their murderer live unpunished?”

“Hold up,” Claude steps forward, closer to the center than he would prefer. “Edelgard, who is the ‘She’ you mentioned earlier? And, for that matter, why  _ are _ you working with the people who assassinated Jeralt and tried to off Teach?”

The look on Edelgard’s face says flat out she doesn’t have to answer them and could refuse. She looks at Claude,  _ really _ looks at him, and then to Byleth before looking away. “Why do you need to know something like that?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense,” Claude replies easily enough. Dimitri looks at him as though he’s lost his mind and Edelgard stares in surprise. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, and while I know you’re about as ambitious as I am and willing to go a little further than I  _ usually _ want to in the name of some dream or another, there are too many holes in your story, and logic for my liking.”

She glares at him for that.

He continues as though he doesn’t see it. “So, Miss Empress, if you’d be so kind as to indulge me a couple of answers?”

Dimitri mutters a series of dark insults under his breath before speaking himself. “Why not? Your death is sealed regardless, so you may as well plead your pathetic case to pass the time.”

When Edelgard looks to Byleth for her reaction, the Professor just gives her a steady, inscrutable stare in return: it’s up to the Empress as to whether or not she wants to cooperate or if she wants to continue as she has been. 

Byleth hopes, privately and for all their sakes, that Edelgard will stop trying to go it alone the way she has been since their Academy days and let them _in_.  



	17. Save Us 3 (House Leaders x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard attempts this thing called group therapy. Every time Dimitri interrupts, Byleth is going to make him put a gold piece in the Quiet Jar.

There are a number of scenarios Edelgard dreamed of finding her beloved teacher in after their years-long absence; injured and in need of care, whole and helping in some far reaching part of Fodlan she had yet to take over, or even just amnesiac and roaming about the country selling her sword the way she’d grown up doing her entire life. She’d even dreamt of finding Byleth at her front door or captured by her soldiers and brought to her for ‘questioning’. A reunion of mixed feelings but ultimately resulting in her victory and having her teacher at her side once more.

One such dream involved Byleth sneaking past the guards and Hubert to whisk her away, just the two of them, to seek revenge on Those Who Slither In The Dark, and remove their threat once and for all. The rest of it be damned, Hubert would be able to carry the rest of the plan out himself while she lived what she had of her life left in as much happiness as she could. That dream was still her favorite and she tried her damndest to bring it back every time she shut her eyes.

None of her dreams ever involved a blizzard, a small space, and two of her biggest enemies currently awaiting an explanation alongside Byleth.

Her instinctive reaction is to lift her chin and give them every last bit of noble pride she has within her veins; they don’t deserve the answers they so demand from her. It isn’t like they’re capable of understanding what she’s been through, what she  _ has _ to do in order to make sure those who died didn’t do so in vain. They don’t know what it’s like to see their families driven to madness, to starve to death, to die in agony or otherwise hear their screams day in and day out without rest--

Dimitri’s words from before, callous and bitter, about the cries of the dead sneak up on her and she viciously throws the mental barricades shut on  _ that _ line of thinking. 

She knew he’d witnessed the Tragedy of Duscur, and the descriptions she’s heard have been nothing short of horrific. He saw many of his own people, his  _ family _ , die in battle and that’s different than what she saw. It has to be different. He’s not the same as she is. Duscur and dying in battle are a far different series of events and tragedies than what she’s been through. She tells herself that he  _ still _ wouldn’t understand. 

He can’t understand if he’s in league with  _ Rhea _ and the fucking Church of Seiros to this day.

_ It doesn’t matter what answers you give them. They’ve already made up their mind and it isn’t as though it will change the outcome in the end. _ Edelgard tells herself and draws strength, and comfort, from this fact. Claude is an unknown but might be able to be convinced, she’s not sure and isn’t willing to bet on it in the end, and she knows for  _ certain _ nothing she will tell Dimitri will ever change his mind.

Byleth, in the end, is the only one she desperately needs on her side in all of this.

“Which question do you want answered first?” Edelgard replies at long last. 

To her private delight, Claude genuinely looks surprised that she’s willing to cooperate. The mysterious heir-turned-leader of the Alliance is a difficult one to surprise and an even harder one to score a true victory on. “Didn’t expect you to actually answer,” he admits to her with a grin that’s there and gone in the span of a heartbeat. “Let’s go with the second one; why are you working with the people who assassinated Jeralt and tried to do the same with Teach?”

He would pick the more difficult one first. 

She tries to pick her words carefully and finds the holes in her own logic as she structures her argument. There  _ isn’t _ a good reason, even the one she clings to the hardest-- to be able to stab  _ them  _ in the back and make them pay for what they’ve done the moment she’s united Fodlan under one banner-- falls short of the clout she wants it to have. In the end, that’s the best she has to offer and the only possible explanation she has that isn’t comprised of lies and half-truths. 

“Necessity.” She says at last. “I know them, I know their tactics, and I know of their plans and desires; they have been in agreement with at least one of my goals even if their execution thereof is  _ not _ to my approval or liking.” How can she explain this to them and make them understand? She didn’t  _ have _ a choice other than this; she didn’t have another way out other than this blood-stained path. “They have the power that helps me combat my enemy so that I can get rid of her and restore Fodlan to the way it should be. The moment I have that accomplished… they  _ will _ be brought to justice, I will see to it with my own two hands.”

“The whole ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ thing.” Claude replies easily.

“No.” Edelgard responds, sharper than she intends to. “Regardless of how useful they are or what power they use at my command, they are  _ not _ my allies or friends.”

“...they’re the ones you mentioned five years ago.” Byleth speaks after a moment’s thought. “The ones backed by the Prime Minister.”

Leave it to her beloved teacher to remember something so important as two fleeting conversations in a moment of weakness. She stiffens at the reminder of those vulnerable nights and the beacon of hope that there might be  _ someone _ out there who would understand her. “The very same, yes.” 

“The Prime Minister of the Adrestian Empire had something to do with all of this?” Claude inquired, brow furrowed as he shifted his weight to his other foot. 

“Yes and no.” Edelgard replies, reluctant to elaborate further. “It’s…”

“Complicated, I’m sure.” Dimitri’s response is borderline unforgivable in its sarcasm and Edelgard imagines removing his head with her axe in one fell swing. 

“ _ He _ is one of the reasons I walk this path. He is no longer a threat to the people of Fodlan, I’ve made sure of that.” She says with a vicious edge that she didn’t intend. “The rest of them will fall the moment I can get to them.”

“Blaming the Prime Minister for your decision to become a cold-blooded murderer of hundreds, if not  _ thousands _ of innocent people is hardly what I call a compelling reason for your behavior.” Dimitri continues, ignoring the elaboration even as something about the words irritate something in the back of his mind. “It’s no excuse for the betrayal of your allies and those who have shown you mercy and kindness.”

“ _ What _ allies?” Edelgard fires back. “Who of you were there eleven years ago? Certainly not the Church of Seiros, who were in league with the Prime Minister  _ and _ the bastards who-”

“Edelgard,” Byleth interjects before she can really fling the verbal daggers into the one-eyed traitor’s face. She looks, hurt, to her teacher and awaits the woman’s response. “They don’t know.” 

_ Of course, they don’t know. Why would they? It- _ her thoughts stop there as the implication and weight of the Professor’s words sink in.

They don’t know, therefore, they don’t understand because they don’t know what she does and she’s… she’s kept it to herself, with the exception of Hubert, and then Byleth. Her father knew too, but he was powerless and in too ill of health to do anything to stop it. Had he tried, he’d have been killed too, and the family would have been deposed with the Prime Minister likely stealing the throne for himself. 

Looking at it from Dimitri and Claude’s perspectives… she did this out of nowhere and without prompting. She betrayed them all for… for some paltry  _ power _ grab and desire for conquest, making her no better than the very nobility they all held some degree of resentment toward. 

_ No wonder they look at us and see only monsters. _

But what could she have done to convince them back then? What could she possibly say, or do, to make them understand just how much was at stake if she refused to act? 

They wouldn’t have stood a chance and they would have faced even worse ends than that of what she’d had planned. It would have been terrifying at first, but they’d have died in noble, if tragic, battles. Heroes to their people and forever remembered as promising leaders who fell too soon. Their deaths would have promoted her cause against the Church and would have come to make her dream a little less bloody and difficult in the long run. 

They weren’t there and they didn’t know, and Edelgard doesn’t know how to begin telling them to make them understand.

“What happened eleven years ago?” Dimitri surprises them all with the question. His lone eye focused solely on the Empress in front of him. “You left Fhirdiad with your uncle around that time if I recall.”

Edelgard looks at him, confused. “Yes, but how did you…?”

His eye switches to Byleth, whose attention is focused on him, as he withdraws the dagger he’d kept. He looks to Edelgard again. 

“Does this look familiar to you?” His voice is still hostile, but there’s something else in his voice that makes her nervous as she stares at the dagger in his hands, and then to his face. 

“Where did you-”

“You dropped it five years ago. Do you recall who gave this to you?”

She shakes her head after a moment. 

His mouth twists into a parody of a bitter smile. “‘Use this to carve your own path.’”

The words, and memories, came back to her a moment later. “You-”

“Me.” He replies without allowing her to finish. “I  _ was _ your ally eleven years ago, as I was five years ago.”

The last several words are a blow she feels even without the bite he has in his voice. “You were powerless back then, as was I.” And oh how she _had_ wished for him to save her back then. For him to send for her, for her _mother_ to request her return and they could have been...  


They could have been happy.

“Powerless to do what, Edelgard?” He mocks her. “Die in the name of whatever mockery of peace you claim to desire? Cede my kingdom to your tyranny? To save you from the monster you allowed yourself to become?”

“That last one is closer to the truth than I would care to admit.” Edelgard shoots back, teeth clenched as she tries her damndest to continue  _ speaking _ instead of backing down and allowing whatever beliefs they have to comfort them in their continued defiance. “Whatever you wish to think, continue to do so if it allows you to-”

Claude clears his throat. “Fascinating as this back and forth is, what happened eleven years ago? You left Fhirdiad and then what?”

Edelgad swallows hard against the bile rising in her throat. She’s not spoken of it to anyone but Hubert and Byleth. That Dimitri was the one who gave her the dagger that kept her going all these years was  _ not _ the revelation she’d asked for, nor was it one she needed. It was another blow on top of Byleth being alive that threatened to shake her conviction. 

An idea, wild and crazy, strikes her like a bolt of lightning as she reaches to unlace the straps of her gauntlets. Allows the crimson armor to fall to the ground with a dull  _ thump _ and pulls off the glove underneath. She shoves the long sleeve of her coat up to the elbow and reveals the array of thick, badly healed scar tissue from wrist to the point they disappear into her sleeve.

“You heard Dimitri,” she hears herself say with a bitter laugh that borders on hysteria. “I became a monster.” 


	18. Save Us 4 (House Leaders x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri has a hard reality check and does not like what this implies.

He doesn’t understand what he’s looking at for the longest time.

Oh sure, he understands scar tissue. He has several himself; some silvered over with time and others that look as grotesque as the ones on Edelgard’s too pale arm from where he couldn’t do more than try to keep the wound clean. He understands that she’s been in and out of combat multiple times throughout their time in the Academy and outside of it these last five plus years and can’t manage to remember when, if ever, he’s seen her take a direct hit.

He’s missing something with the revelations of the scars on her flesh and it’s even more maddening that he  _ should _ know what that something is in tandem with her words. 

_ You left Fhirdiad and then what? _

_ You heard Dimitri, I became a monster. _

Dimitri studied the badly healed wounds on her arm and let his gaze travel up to the defiance on her face. Willed himself, even in his fury that she would try and use such things as an excuse for her betrayal, to try and  _ see _ what she wasn’t willing to-- or able if that were possible-- say aloud. There’s fear there, but not of him, not of Claude or Byleth. She doesn’t fear what they can, and will, do to her if they put their minds to it. If they chose to kill her, she would fight until her final breath.

What  _ did _ she fear and why now?

It was so long ago his own memory is hazy when it comes to the day they parted ways as children. His earnest insistence she take the dagger, his bold words-- childish now that he reflects on them-- given to her in hopes that she would remember them while they were apart and be strengthened if times grew difficult. She’d been nervous, he thought it was because she’d come to like Fhirdiad and didn’t like the idea of the unknown when her uncle had called for her. 

Her uncle. His eye narrowed. It couldn’t be, the man had been fond of his niece. Had been fond of his stepmother, Edelgard’s mother, and had tolerated his own pestering and questions the way any uncle to nobility might have. “...are you saying that Lord Arundel is complicit alongside the Prime Minister and they gave you those scars?”

It’s brief, so brief he almost believes it to be a figment of his imagination, but there is a flash of something that looks like hope there in her violet eyes. Her face is almost the same color as her hair at this point and that’s one more thing he realizes that’s been different and he, to his embarrassment, didn’t even  _ think _ about. “Your hair also changed since then, is that due to what caused those injuries too?”

“That’s an affirmative, at least on the scars, and I’d be willing to wager money on the hair too.” Claude replies on her behalf, his voice serious compared to before. Dimitri turns to him. It’s rare that Claude has that tone of voice and the look on his face matches. 

“How…?” Edelgard doesn’t know how to finish that sentence without divulging more information than she wants to, and Dimitri recognizes that too.

“How would you know such things, Claude?” Dimitri finishes for her. 

He hates her with every fiber of his being. Has hated her for the last five years and wants to  _ still _ keep hating her because it’s easy and because she is responsible for so much pain. He’s convinced himself of this and yet… and  _ yet _ something about her behavior, the careful way she has with words and the mask she continues to force on her face, and those Goddess-damned scars on her arm is sliding an invisible blade he doesn’t want to name into his ribs. It’s creating a hole in his hatred and what lies beneath is terrifies him as much as he finds a part of him desperately wishing to believe what it tells him.

The corner of Claude’s mouth lifts briefly and falls again. “Lysithea.”

Edelgard’s attention is on Claude and the look she gives him is enough to make his chest  _ hurt _ with the intensity. The Alliance leader practically threw her a rope while she was drowning and she’s just barely refraining from grabbing on to it with everything she has in her. Claude’s expression isn’t entirely sympathetic, he’s still watching her with that same analytical look he gives pretty much everyone he’s suspicious of, but there  _ is _ something in there that resembles understanding that Dimitri doesn’t understand.

He isn’t sure if he  _ wants _ to understand. Understanding might mean having to choose between his hatred, his  _ reason _ for existing, and having to give it all up and being left with nothing but the voices of the dead and no direction in which he can truly take to avenge them all. 

_ Don’t, Claude, don’t take that from me. It’s all I have left. Whatever you do, whatever you are about to say, do  _ not _ make it difficult for me to continue hating her. _

“That would be the young woman in the Golden Deer House,” Dimitri replies slowly. “She was fairly small, talented in magic, and the youngest in your class?” 

“With white hair.” Byleth adds to help jog the faint memory. 

White hair. Like Edelgard’s. 

“That’s the one. Sharp-tongued and brilliant. Loves cake and is terrified of ghosts.” Claude adds on to build the image of the young white-haired mage. He offers Dimitri a look the other man can’t decipher before his attention turns back to Edelgard.

Given what he knows of the dead, Dimitri can't say he blames this Lysithea for being afraid of ghosts.  


“I know her,” Edelgard responds a little too sharply. “Why do you say her name?”

“Her scars look like yours.” He tells her. “I didn’t mean to see them, but I had a question for her and might have walked in on her at an awkward moment.”

“You walked in on her doing  _ what _ , exactly?” Byleth asks.

Claude had the decency to look embarrassed. “Changing. But she wasn’t  _ totally _ naked, just, you know, from the waist up.” 

“Dimitri, please return my dagger. I find myself in need of it.” Edelgard replies immediately. Her bare hand outstretched and beckons for him to hand the blade over. She even has scars on her  _ fingers _ , each and every single one of them. 

“Hey! I turned around the moment I realized it and she tried to set me on fire for the next three hours!” Claude protests. “Don’t look at me like that, I swear it was an accident. I knocked and everything.”

“You  _ did _ try to spy on me in the bath.” Byleth reminds him when he looks to her for help. 

Dimitri and Edelgard  _ both _ give Claude the dirtiest looks they can manage. 

He holds up both hands as though to fend off any attacks that may come his way. “I caught Sylvain trying to spy on you and was  _ unjustly _ punished for being in the same location. If you recall,  _ he _ was the one with the black eye from the shoe, not me when class started the next morning.”

Dimitri says something pithy about his childhood friend that leaves Claude laughing and Edelgard somewhat mollified. He shouldn’t be surprised by the revelation, but  _ damn it, Sylvain _ . If he ever sees the red-headed nuisance, he’s going to lecture him  _ twice _ and then allow Ingrid to have her turn. 

“ _ Anyway, _ ” Claude hurries on with the topic. “the point is; I saw her scars. If I’m right, those don’t stop at your arms either.”

“They do not.” She agrees tersely. 

Dimitri actually hates this conversation more than he currently detests Edelgad’s existence as a whole. It’s too much for him to take in. Because if Edelgard was being tortured, and by the sounds of it, Lysithea as well around the same time?

No. He can’t just…

Wait. The Tragedy of Duscur.

“...where were you when the Tragedy of Duscur occurred?” Dimitri demands. “You claim to have had no knowledge, no hand in it, how do you explain Lord Arundel--” He stops speaking as the answer to his question neatly arrives within his own mind.

If what she is saying is the truth, and he doesn’t believe her, not entirely, then what if Edelgard had been stolen back to the Empire and…

“I was beneath the castle back in the Empire.” Her voice is so terribly  _ bitter _ it draws his attention back up. She’s cradling the naked limb against her chest as though she can erase the scars or the damned thing pains her. 

Goddess. “Being tortured.”

“Experimented on.” She corrects him.

“Is it not the same thing?” He snaps in return.

She looks surprised at the question and nods, reluctantly, in agreement. “I suppose you are correct.”

Which means she lost her mother at the same time he lost his entire family. 

“What of your siblings? Were they with you?” 

Edelgard refuses to meet his eyes and her expression  _ twists _ in an all too familiar way.

_ Do not make that face. Do not tell me… _

“They died.” Byleth’s voice is as gentle as she can make it, but the two words are  _ damning _ all the same. 

He looks to Byleth, a silent question he doesn’t have the heart to ask on his face. She looks to Edelgard, who is trying to find it in her to pull whatever pride she has left up and return to a callous, cold state of mind after the current conversation runs its course, and back to him.

She nods.

They did not survive the experiments. Edelgard, like Dimitri himself, witnessed their deaths first hand. 


	19. Save Us 5 (House Leaders x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting Man Wonders If There Is Something In Fodlan's Drinking Water, More at Eleven.

In terms of class reunions, this one was pretty high up there on the ‘worst’ list.

They weren’t trying to kill one another, however, and Claude counts that among the plusses they’ve had so far. The first, and most important, is that Byleth is alive and hopefully intends to stay that way for the foreseeable future. He could really use her help about now, especially in regards to the other two in the room and the chaos both of _ them _ have managed to wreck on the entire country. Well, Edelgard more so than Dimitri, but _ damn _ if Dimitri hadn’t been throwing everything he had into the proverbial ring in the meantime. 

Coaxing what motivated Edelgard to do what she had was as taxing as it was rewarding. Several of his questions had been answered, some of his theories confirmed, and several things he _ hadn’t _ expected were revealed the longer they kept her talking. Even Dimitri had started asking questions, a bonus in Claude’s eyes, as a lot of what Dimitri used as motivation against Edelgard was pretty much on par with what _ she _ was using in turn for her own machinations. 

Two little peas in a pod, Edelgard and Dimitri. Traumatized by the untimely, cruel deaths of their families, tortured or otherwise exposed _ to _ such things at a young age… the more he hears, the more Claude finds himself quietly grateful for the upbringing he’s had. 

Sure, the assassination attempts weren’t great and he’s still kicking himself for _ not _ seeing that bandit attack Edelgard had orchestrated as just that, and the bullying, isolation, and fights he’d gotten into weren’t anything to brag about either. But his family, minus the one cousin on his father’s side that was his first victim of poison experimentation, at least solved things in a more civilized and fair way than this. In a lot of ways, and Judith would agree with him, Almyra was simpler and easier when it came to resolving conflicts, feuds, and grudges.

_ Too bad it’s too late to foster them out to Judith. I have a feeling she’d have a great time whipping them into shape. _

He watches Byleth more than the other two while they ask and answer questions back and forth. _ Bet you wish Jeralt was here too, don’t you? _

“So the same experiments that resulted in your hair and scars were done to your siblings too?” He has to be sure, has to confirm it so Dimitri can’t pretend he doesn’t know the full extent of what she’s been through. 

“That’s correct.” She’s trying pretty hard to sound like she’s unaffected by it. He knows better, so does Byleth and Dimitri at this point. 

“So what does the Church have to do with it? You mentioned the Church of Seiros being responsible, you meant the branch down in the Empire or the whole of it?” He asks her. “You think the Archbishop and Seteth would seriously tolerate what was being done?”

“Why wouldn’t they if it gave them more control over Fodlan?” The look Edelgard gives him is filled with gratitude he doesn’t deserve for changing the subject. “They _ love _ the Crest hierarchy, why wouldn’t they approve of the experiments if it continues to suit their needs and promote the caste system between commoners and nobility based on whether or not they’re born with something so highly regarded?”

“He isn’t,” Byleth responds, having been fairly quiet while Edelgard speaks.

“What?” Three sets of eyes turn on her. 

She looks back at them. “Seteth isn’t fond of Crests and the emphasis on them in Fodlan.”

“How do you know this?” Edelgard sounds skeptical. 

Dimitri looks surprised but interested in this news.

Claude himself is both interested _ and _ skeptical, but something about it does feel right. Seteth likes to nag and lecture like nobody’s business, and he’s been on the receiving end of _ more _ than his fair share of those lectures, but Seteth lectured regardless of whether or not someone’s birth was noble or common born. According to Hanneman, _ Seteth _ was rumored to have been born a commoner with a Crest himself. 

“I overheard him advising one of the students five years ago on what comprises one’s worth. He spoke of his dislike of Crests being used to determine one’s worth in comparison to their morals and actions.” Byleth explains a little further. “I would ask him for further discussion on the topic.”

“He really thinks people show their worth through deeds rather than luck of the draw, huh?” Claude muses aloud. “That’s not very Church of Seiros-y of him, you know. What’s the Archbishop say about that?”

Byleth offered a shrug. “I’d have to ask her opinion. Or Hanneman, I’m sure he’s gone at length into the topic with everyone there at the monastery at least once.”

He laughs. Even Edelgard and Dimitri manage to crack a smile at the comment toward the… _ enthusiastic _ Crest scholar back in Garreg Mach. “Hanneman’ll be easier to ask without repercussions.” 

Byleth shrugs again but nods. A glint in her bright green eyes suggests she’d said what she did with the intention of lightening the mood a little. 

“That doesn’t explain why the Church allowed and approved of the experiments.” Edelgard returns to the topic at hand. “I understand that, in some ways, they were terrified of the Hresvelg lineage weakening… but to go to the lengths they did is unforgivable.”

Back on familiar territory, Claude doesn’t hesitate to chime in. “See, that’s another thing that doesn’t make sense to me. We saw what happened when the Western Church started trying to do things their way, with your help by the sounds of it, no offense.” 

Edelgard shook her head to indicate none was taken.

“But then there was the whole thing with Miklan not being born with a Crest and trying to use something that he ‘wasn’t worthy’ of. The way Archbishop was talking, you’d think just _ having _ one is good enough for her as being worthy of whatever Relic you’re supposed to inherit.” He continues. One hand reaches up and idly scratches his scalp out of habit. “I don’t get it; if the Archbishop is about you being _ born _ worthy, why would she care about you having a Minor or Major Crest to ascend the throne? It seems to me like she’d be more worried about you continuing the Hresvelg line than anything else."

“That is _ hardly _ appropriate, Claude.” Dimitri scolds him. There’s a faint redness to his cheeks as he does so.

Claude waits exactly half a beat before he decides to take his chances with Dimitri’s unpredictable temper and gets him too. “Sorry, Your Highness, but you’re in the same position as Edelgard too if you think about it.” 

_ And I’m in _ twice _ as much trouble as both of you, but you don’t need to know that. _ He thinks and grins. Let them misinterpret his amusement as being at their expense, it’s more fun that way and liable to get them to slip up and give them more of their secrets. 

Edelgard’s face flushes as well, but Dimitri’s darkens to a full-on blush and he gives Claude a look that probably could have killed a lesser man. 

“But back to the topic at hand; the Archbishop is missing and has been for about the same time you have been, Teach, so we can’t exactly _ ask _ her why she did or didn’t approve of these experiments. I’d like to know for Lysithea’s sake too.” Claude finishes his thought on the matter for them to analyze and respond to. He genuinely wants to help the snarky young woman from his territory. Not just because he feels responsible as the leader of the Alliance, but because she’s a friend and he’d like her to be able to _ breathe _ for ten minutes without believing she’s wasting time.

There’s a look on Edelgard’s face that says she has information but doesn’t want to share it on the subject. “...hey, Edelgard, did you happen to have _ asked _ Rhea about this?”

“No.” She says after a moment. “I asked if she was happy with the results of her experiments and the lives of my family it stole.”

“What did she say?” Byleth asked softly.

“...she looked at me as though I had lost my wits and told me she didn’t know what I was talking about.” She looks to Byleth and Claude. “She called me a traitor to my lineage and made some comments about how a sinner like me has tainted the honor of past Emperors with my actions.” 

Her brow furrowed and she brought her hand up to her chin in thought. Claude could tell she was thinking hard about his questions, of the answers she’d given, and watched as little things began to pile up in contrary to what she’d believed to be true.

The moment, should it come, where Edelgard realizes she’s been on the wrong path for the wrong reasons is going to be devastating. Claude thinks with a sad look toward the Emperor herself. Same goes for Dimitri, and he’s already worried about how the blond warrior is going to take the news he’s found out as is. Both of them lived solely for revenge and reformation of something that needed to be changed, drastically, but not in either manner the two of them believed was the ‘only’ way.

Bloodshed and revenge was an easy route to take on paper, but the toll it takes on the mind and the body is greater than any of them could have fathomed. While Edelgard’s an overthinker and overachiever, even she wasn’t prepared to pay the price she’s had to in order to get this far.

_Neither of you thought this through and look at the mess you’ve made._ _Such a waste of your potential._ It saddens him on multiple levels to see them reduced to… this. Sure, he liked a good revenge plot as much as the next guy, especially if the bastard deserved it and had it coming to ‘em. 

But revenge? _ True _ revenge is an affair that couldn’t be hastened. It _ had _ to be carefully planned and said plan executed without the slightest error or the whole reason behind it would turn it to yet another senseless act of violence. 

“Hey, Teach, you’ve been really quiet throughout all of this. What’re your thoughts?” When in doubt, drag Byleth out and into the thick of it. See what sense she could make out of all of this and if she’s thinking the same thing he is right now. “I mean, given that you met with the Archbishop and Seteth on a number of occasions and seemed pretty chummy with them, and also know the three of _ us _ better than we probably like, you might have some insight the rest of us _ don’t _.”

She looks at all three of them, _ really _ looks at them, and takes her time in choosing her words with care. Claude watches the way her gaze lingers on Edelgard in particular, and then to Dimitri, worry darkens the color of her eyes by a few shades, and then she turns her eyes to him. He can _ feel _ the weight of that gaze and holds his breath in preparation for whatever verbal blow she’s about to deliver.

He can feel a change beginning to stir and take shape around them: the beginning of the end is here, at long last, and he has _ no fucking clue _ how this is going to go.


	20. Save Us 6 (House Leaders x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth apologizes for being a failure of an adult.

“I owe all three of you an apology.” 

Byleth’s first words are an admission of guilt and, judging by the collective faces of shock, were  _ not _ at all what her former students expected. She  _ feels _ the regret show itself on her face as she looks from stunned face to stunned face and takes in the weight of the five years or so that have passed. Of the months she’d wasted before Garreg Mach fell and she’d fallen off that damned cliff to that stupid magical blast. She shouldn’t have just  _ listened _ and treated them the way she had-- like they were adults capable of making such decisions on their own and were fully independent soldiers.

“The Church of Seiros too owes you an apology-- especially you two.” She looks to Edelgard and Dimitri in particular. “I will personally assure you receive one.” Somehow. It may take a little, or a lot depending on who she gets to first, convincing first. But the Church  _ does _ owe them for their lack of awareness-- especially over the Prime Minister. 

“Uhh, Teach? You okay?” Claude’s worry is clear in voice and expression. 

The jumbled pieces of their pasts have made a truly horrific picture and while Rhea and Seteth aren’t responsible for how things came about, they  _ are _ responsible for failing to prevent it out of… what reason, she isn’t sure. Reluctance on Seteth’s end, he’s too responsible to just go looking into matters unprompted. Rhea is more difficult but will have to be handled in another manner, she’s the least likely of them to offer an apology after the fury she’d launched into after Edelgard had escaped from the Holy Tomb. 

But they’re adults, and if Rhea is who she believes her to be, Rhea doubly owes them.

“Why are  _ you _ apologizing, Professor?” Dimitri asks. “Other than vanishing for five years to… sleep. Or whatever it was that occurred, I fail to see what you have to apologize for.” 

“I didn’t report to the Archbishop and Seteth as I should have.” She looks to Edelgard. “I should have informed them  _ both _ over what we discussed during our discussions and found out what they knew-- or  _ didn’t _ know.” 

“No. I would have denied it and worse of all, I would have  _ hated _ you for the betrayal of my confidence.” Edelgard manages to respond, still in shock but also alarmed by the gravity on her instructor’s face. “I asked that you not mention it, you were only honoring your word. No one can blame you for-”

“Yes, they can, and they  _ should _ .” Byleth cuts her off. “I was your Professor and you were in  _ my _ care. This was not a conversation to stay between friends, but should have been reported and  _ help _ offered to you to pursue those responsible and bring them to justice.” 

Her eyes went back to Dimitri. “I saw what you struggled with and I should have mentioned that too. This,” she gestured to Edelgard and their surroundings. “should have been prevented. Could have been had I spoken up.” 

“You don’t know that.” It’s a choked whisper that comes out of Edelgard’s mouth. “It wouldn’t have made a difference, I would have…”

Byleth looks the Emperor of the Adrestian Empire in the eye. “You would have refused an offer to be rid of those who would do further harm just to spite the Archbishop and the Church as a whole?”

“I would have.” It’s a weak protest and they all know it. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t have been able to  _ believe _ them, they  _ lied _ about the past, Professor. They lied about Nemesis and the heroes-”

“What they lied about in regards to the King of Liberation doesn’t matter to me.” And it didn’t. She was tired of hearing about that man and his wicked deeds and ways. How his power corrupted him and those in the Church who’d given her sidelong glances once her Crest had been revealed and her ability to wield the relic he once had was put on display. As far as she’s concerned, the man is dead, will remain dead, and his legacy and origins can be debated and hidden or twisted as far as they want to.

It has no bearing on the present. 

“What I cared about back then, what I care about  _ now _ are you three and the rest of those I taught back at the Academy. The debates about history and fabrication can be left for times of peace when there is quite literally  _ nothing _ but that to do.” Her voice is raised, a rarity the three of them have seen a small handful of times and usually only on the battlefield. “Had I understood that you were still  _ children _ and not peers, I would have done the right thing and prevented as much of the last five years that I could have.”

“We were  _ not _ children.” Edelgard, Dimitri, and Claude all protest. Glare at one another and then turn those glares back to her. 

Byleth is unaffected by the thunderous looks sent her way. “You were seventeen. In Fodlan’s eyes? You were children.”

“You are  _ not _ that much older than we are,” Edelgard argues. 

“I was in my majority when we met and have been for some time.” Byleth counters. It’s a stupid, childish argument but her point is unable to be argued against.  _ Even if I don’t… quite know how old I truly am. _ The diary implicates she’s around twenty-five or twenty-six years old  _ now _ after the five-year-long sleep, but Jeralt was never one for keeping dates straight. “We are not discussing  _ my _ upbringing; we’re discussing your time in and out of the Academy and why you are owed an apology for the failings of the  _ adults _ around you.”

“When  _ can _ we discuss your upbringing?” Claude asks.

Dimitri  _ and _ Edelgard both have an expression that states they too would like to discuss such a thing. 

_ If I have my way about it, not until you’re thirty; assuming I can keep you alive that long. _ She nearly says it aloud too. “When we aren’t in the middle of a war.”

There’s a certain glint in Claude’s eyes that Byleth does  _ not _ care for and wholly implies the not-so-little schemer is about to be back on his ‘best’ behavior. He accepts the snarky response too readily and folds his arms over his chest to watch the rest of the back and forth. Edelgard’s eyes narrow in response and Dimitri looks… a little  _ too _ thoughtful.

_ I’m going to regret saying that. _ Byleth  _ knows _ she’s going to regret offering a solid answer rather than a vague one. What’s done is done and she’ll figure out a loophole out of it later. 

Dimitri is the first to speak up. “Your words indicate you believe those at Garreg Mach, and thus the Church of Seiros, are responsible. Are you siding with… the Empire then?” He can’t bring himself to say Edelgard’s name or use her title and looks as though he’s preparing for a particularly devastating blow.

“No.” Byleth shakes her head in response. 

Edelgard’s eyes close as though her death has been decided. 

“Neither am I siding with the Church.” 

Her eyes open again, surprised. “Then… whose side are you on?”

“Neither.” She replies. Her gaze is clear and straight-forward as she regards her former students. “Neither side has claim over being innocent or guilty when  _ both _ parties involved refused to open their eyes, share intel, and  _ communicate. _ ”

“That’s a pretty mercenary way of looking at it.” The Alliance leader responds innocently. The other three give him a pointed look. He gives them a lift of his eyebrows in return. “Well, it is. As someone who’s been on the outside of this whole conflict,”

Edelgard rolls her eyes. Dimitri snorts in response to  _ that _ claim. Claude’s been playing both sides against each other as best he can in and out of his territory in order to remain as neutral as possible. He pretends he doesn’t hear them and keeps going. 

“I’d like to thank Teach for agreeing with me on the matter, and Edelgard for actually taking the time to explain herself.” 

Edelgard looks as though she’s weighing whether or not it’d be worth whatever Byleth’s retaliation would be to smack the cheeky tactician. She restrains herself for the moment, takes a deep breath, and releases it before she speaks. “If you aren’t on… any side, then where do you go from here?” She wants to say ‘we’  _ so _ badly. She can’t. She can’t make that assumption now that Byleth has made her stance somewhat clear. She doesn’t believe the Church or Edelgard are in the right of it, which is more and less than she had hoped for out of this situation. 

But it doesn’t give any of them a clear direction as to where they  _ should  _ go from there.

“That depends on you,” Byleth replies and watches their expressions shift from surprise to calculating in a heartbeat. “My rule stands; anyone who physically attacks one of the others is going to be incapacitated-- and I  _ will _ hear you even if I’m asleep-- and in as painful a manner as I can muster until the storm ends and I can get you somewhere safe for retrieval.”

Dimitri speaks up, again, choosing his own words carefully in spite of the frustration he feels mounting. “What do  _ you _ wish to do? I,” he can barely tolerate looking at Edelgard but forces himself to do so. Looks to Claude and then back to Edelgard and then, finally, Byleth herself. “know what  _ I _ want, I assume these two also have their own ideas in mind. I assume you wish the war ended, but to what degree?”

How far, his expression demands, is she willing to go in order to achieve that goal?

“There are several ways this war can be ended.” Byleth answers smoothly. “The ideal way, unlikely as it is, would be for the three of you to use the time we have while trapped in one place to treat it as though you are at the war table and discuss amongst yourselves what you are willing and unwilling to do to put an end to it and come to an acceptable resolution.”

That’s the one she wants the most but doesn’t dare say. She isn’t going to force them down her personal choice, not when their lives have been thus far chosen  _ for _ them. As painful as it is, they have to decide this on their own and she has to live, as do they, with the consequences of their decisions. 

“And if no acceptable resolution can be found?” He presses.  


Her eyes are as cold as her voice as she replies. 

“ I can always end the war by killing the three of you here.” 


	21. Save Us 7 (House Leaders x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting Man Enlists Help of Traumatized Angry Locals to Help Local Professor Sleep Comfortably.

They believe her.

One by one, their eyes slip away from their Professor and go to one another. It’s difficult to look at one another and see beyond the sense of betrayal, loss, and so much more that colors the person they look at. Dimitri’s madness and the blood-thirsty quest for revenge, Edelgard’s tyranny and heartless betrayal, and Claude’s apathy and cunning manipulation of all those around him like pieces on a game board. Each of them stands there because of the choices they’ve had to make, the sacrifices of other people, and the blood they’ve spilled and people they have had to walk away from along the way.

Claude is the first one to speak after that. “If you  _ do _ kill all three of us, you… do realize what will happen to you, don’t you, Teach? You’ll have the Alliance, the Kingdom, the Church,  _ and _ the Empire after you.”

“I do.” Two words, simply spoken and utterly devoid of emotion, is Byleth’s response to them.

“That would make you another King of Liberation.” Dimitri manages. “Do you truly find that acceptable?”

Her face is identical to the one they all knew from their fateful encounter, back before all this mess about assassination and betrayal had come to light. Cold, expressionless, and impossible to read. It says that she not only finds it  _ acceptable _ but if that’s the only way to win the war? She  _ will _ do it, regardless of what it will cost her to do so. At that moment, she  _ isn’t _ on the same playing field as the rest of them; she’s above them and as out of reach as they all initially believed her to be  _ before _ they’d gotten to know her.

They don’t like the Ashen Demon’s visage.

“Stop it.” Edelgard’s voice is strained.

They look to her. She’s looking at them as though she’s only just  _ now _ understanding the magnitude of her actions as well as their own. Her eyes are on Byleth in particular. “There is no need to go…”

“To go that far? One might say those words have been said to you on many an occasion, Emperor.” Dimitri bites at her. “You are the last of us worthy of admonishing the Professor over such a decision.”

“ _ You _ have no right to lecture either of us, Dimitri, what with your careless savagery and destruction of whoever is in your path.” Edelgard snaps back at him. “I have seen the barbaric injuries inflicted upon my soldiers as well as your own.”

“And they’re back at it again,” Claude comments with a shake of his head and a wry upturn of his lips. He sidled a little closer to the mercenary who could end it all with a few well-timed cuts of her Relic and gestures for her to take a seat on the ground next to him. His elbows rest on his knees as he watches the two leaders argue back and forth over who is less worthy of offering lectures, who the bigger hypocrite happens to be, and which of them is less worthy of forgiveness in the long run. “You’d think they’d see how similar they are to one another after all of this.”

“They do.” Her voice still hasn’t lost that emotionless inflection from earlier. “That’s why they fight like this; they see themselves when they look at one another and they don’t like it.”

“Fair enough, so where does that leave me in that little mess?” Claude teases her, trying to get her to open back up. “Which one am I closest to?”

“Me.” She replies without missing a beat and turns her attention to him. “But then, you already knew that, didn’t you?”

His breath gets stuck somewhere in the middle of his throat. Claude feels the moment his heart skips a beat at the level look she’s giving him. She  _ knew _ he’d already considered her ultimatum-- not actually following through with his own death, mind you, but faking it and disappearing to end the war entirely if no other solution could be found. For a moment, he wonders if she’s been doing a little investigating of her own and found out  _ his _ much detested nickname among the Alliance. 

Both of them outsiders, strangers really, to Fodlan’s Crest System. Strangers to the people. Both of them focused on tactics in order to keep themselves and those around them alive to see another day. At any and all costs. 

He coughs quietly to clear his throat and changes the subject. “You never did say what you wanted, other than the war to end.” 

“I wanted to see you three graduate from the Academy.” Byleth tells him quietly. Claude winces at the sincerity and sadness in her voice. He can’t wait to hit the other two with  _ that _ little nugget of information and see them be gutted by guilt too. 

“What about if the war ended, what would you do?” He tries a different angle.

“...return to Garreg Mach. At least for a little while.” She watches the gestures Dimitri and Edelgard make, careful to ensure none of them are aimed at one another or could be interpreted as instigating a physical brawl. “It’s as close to ‘home’ as I know, the longest I’ve ever spent in one place as well.”

Ouch. He winces again. If Edelgard and Dimitri were here and listening to this, he can only imagine the progress they might be able to make. He’ll really enjoy telling them and adding a couple embellishments here and there just in case it doesn’t guilt them enough to cooperating. “Did you really enjoy teaching us?”

He thinks he sees a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Not at first.”

“Too wild?” He teases. “Too smart? Too good-looking?”

She chuckles and shakes her head. “Wild is a good word for it. Wild, curious, and carefree. Maybe careless is a better word. I was a stranger to you all and you should have kept your distance.” She watches the way Edelgard shakes her head and Dimitri’s arms fold, unyielding, over his chest. “Bernadetta was one of the first to see me, in private, out of all of you.”

Given what little he knew of the reclusive member of the former Black Eagles? That was seriously impressive. 

“At some point, I became accustomed to the interruptions. To all of you calling out to me on the monastery grounds or seeking me out for serious and non-serious matters.” Byleth thinks back to when she’d been sought out by some of the students for no reason other than they wanted to be around her and talk to her about… anything, really. Life. Clothing-- she was still mystified on that one-- and romance, of course. That one had been an interesting conversation. 

“Before long, you became important to me and I found myself wanting to see and help you grow.” 

\--

Claude feels the weight of the future more heavily than ever. 

Byleth, in spite of her best efforts  _ not _ to, slumped over and fell asleep with her head resting against his shoulder. He’s had dreams of these moments, of the two of them talking about the past, the present, and what their ideal future would look like. He looks down at her now and sees the dark shadows under her eyes, the beginning of lines against the corner of her mouth and at the center of her brow. He doesn’t know how long she’s been going since she woke up, but if he were in her position and had fallen asleep or whatever for five years? 

He’d be terrified of going back to sleep and having even  _ more _ time pass him by.

Dimitri and Edelgard haven’t spoken in about ten minutes, too busy glaring at one another and looking for the right words to cut each other back down to size. Or, at least, bring up an argument that wouldn’t be repeating themselves. Claude carefully lifts his free hand and waves it to get their attention.

Edelgard looks first, Dimitri follows her change. Both of them blink at him and then look to the sleeping face of the professor on his shoulder. He mimes their capes on their shoulder with a tap to his own and gestures to Byleth as though covering her with a blanket. They look at him, blank-faced and not quite understanding, and he mouths the words ‘Help me.’ and waits. 

Dimitri catches on quickly, for once, than Edelgard does and removes the heavy fur and his cloak off of his back and carefully walks over. For such a big man in armor, he moves alarmingly quiet and Claude gives him a sidelong look in return as he kneels down and gently tucks the blue cloak around her shoulders.

Edelgard, not to be outdone, unclasps hers  _ and _ the heavy pauldrons that they’re attached to and quietly places the latter down before approaching with her own brilliant scarlet cloak. The two of them work together to move her just enough to tuck the red fabric behind her and overlap the blue for better coverage. 

She looks at Claude and her lips move slower than need be so that he can catch what she’s saying without having to risk waking the professor. ‘Is she okay?’

Claude points to his eyes and offers a brief half-smile. Both of them peer closer and wear matching frowns in response. She’s  _ out _ and breathing deeply. Dimitri and Edelgard each carefully hold her shoulders to keep her from slumping over entirely as Claude reluctantly extracts himself. His cloak is removed, folded neatly, and tucked under his arm as he gestures for Dimitri to give him the fur. Heavy as it is, it’ll make a good pad and keep the cold from leeching the heat out of her. He lays the furs on the ground and his cloak is used as a makeshift pillow as they carefully ease her down and on to the furs. The cloaks are tucked back around her to cover as much of her as possible before the three of them retreat to the other side of the room. 

She looks like a terrible child’s painting; a blob of pale skin and bright green hair standing out against a background of vibrant yellow, blue, and red. 

The three of them stand there and watch her for several minutes. They didn’t know what the hell they were doing without her there to help them, to guide them, and let them know if they were being foolish. Now that she was there, they didn’t know what to do  _ with _ her or for her. 

“So,” Claude breaks the silence in his own way and gives them a look. “Who’s interested in hearing what Teach wants?”

Edelgard and Dimitri give him their undivided attention and Claude steels himself for a very  _ long _ night.


	22. Save Us 8 (House Leaders x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude uses, "The Reasons You Suck Speech" on Edelgard and Dimitri. It may be super effective.

Because he can’t trust either of them to do it, and he tells them in exactly those words, Claude seizes control over the negotiations and the makeshift ‘war table’ they’ve made out of Edelgard’s pauldrons, his sash, and Dimitri’s gauntlets. 

Claude tells them what Byleth spoke of while the two of them were quarreling and holds nothing back. There’s anger in his voice, there’s disappointment in them both, and he’s feeling more than a little self-righteous in that moment. He lectures them from a leadership standpoint and then on a personal one for as long as he manages to hold the floor. There’s no mistaking he’s pissed at the two high-born nobles for their roles in this war, but he’s just as angry and disgusted with  _ himself _ as well for playing the same stupid game and perpetuating the exact thing the three of them want to eliminate. 

He says exactly those words too.

It’s harder than he initially thinks to keep his voice low enough so as not to disturb the woman sleeping behind them and it takes a few widened eyes from Edelgard and a dirty look from Dimitri before the volume control kicks in. 

Whether it’s Fate that brought them together like this, the Goddess Herself guiding them into one place, or just a wildly unlikely fluke that reunited them, Claude doesn’t care. What happened to the three of them in the past, while it matters as far as the events that brought them to this point, doesn’t matter in the present moment. He doesn’t care and knows he’s lying because he  _ does _ care, who the bigger bastard is or who holds the lion’s share of the blame in all of this.

What matters is that they have an opportunity they will never have again to settle it, once and for all, between the three of them and make something out of the mess they’ve all had a hand in creating.

Dimitri gets the first lecture and he really lets the blond would-be king have it in regards to his recklessness, how the bloodthirst makes him more of a danger than Edelgard’s tyranny-- full offense meant, he assures the woman opposite of Dimitri-- to ally and enemy alike. How that same desire for revenge has alienated his potential allies and left him vulnerable to Cordelia’s coup. How he’s going to get himself killed and where the actual hell is that going to leave the people who still give two shits about him who’ve already lost their homes? What of those who gave their lives to ensure the future of the Kingdom, that  _ he _ would have a chance at happiness and to live on their behalf? 

He asks if Dimitri understands that he’s spitting in the faces of all the dead who gave their lives for him so that he can create a new future where tragedies like Duscur didn’t  _ have _ to exist.

By the time he’s through, the man is white with rage and shaking with the effort not to reach over and throttle him.

Edelgard is the one he turns on next and he doesn’t hold back on her. While the Prime Minister and his branch of nobility are definitely the biggest bastards in all of this, she’s absolutely to blame for perpetuating  _ their _ war and for choosing the same path Dimitri has. He rails at her for her arrogance, for deciding that sacrificing herself and who in Fodlan’s name knows how many people for revenge-turned-unification was the only option she had left to her, and reiterates Dimitri’s last portion in regards to the people she’s not taking into consideration and how  _ they _ feel about her impending death. Claude’s twice the asshole because he  _ knows _ her father was alive when she took the crown and asks her if this is what her father and siblings would have wanted to see.

Dimitri’s the one who catches her by the wrist before it connects with Claude’s face.

Claude finishes his piece by looping himself in for doing the same fucking thing; he’s no better than they are even if he  _ isn’t _ on the path of revenge the way they are and doesn’t have their tragedies or traumas to back his motivations. He’s still playing the same war games they are, moving people like they’re game pieces on a board with no thought to their feelings or how they may perceive his actions. Like them, he’s been trying to go about it all alone because of how  _ he _ thinks something should be done and has a complete lack of trust for pretty much anyone else on that planet. 

“Now that we have  _ that _ out of the way,” his voice is less furious but no less stern. “Here’s how we’re going to do this, your Highnesses; you’re each going to get an opportunity to light the rest of us up the way I just set the example for. When we’re all done verbally ripping each other to shreds, we’re going to go to separate corners and we’re going to stay there for an hour to  _ think _ . Really think about what’s been said by the others, and then we’re going to reconvene and go from there.”

“And do what exactly?” Edelgard asks. 

“Either end the war or bare our necks for Teach.” Claude says with a long, frustrated sigh. “And, since you tried to slap me,  _ you _ get to go last on the lecturing.”

\--

Edelgard ignores the looks sent her way when, about twenty minutes into her time alone to think, she rises and goes over to sit in front of the Professor. They can stare all they’d like; where she does her thinking is none of their business or concern. She kneels down and watches her sleep. Studies the dark shadows under her eyes and the telltale crease of her brow present even while she sleeps. She reaches out, unable to control herself, and presses the pad of her thumb against the indentation to smooth it out. 

Byleth is a sound sleeper when she’s comfortable around others, and Edelgard is both grateful and touched by the level of trust her dear teacher has in her. In  _ them _ after so long. 

What if Dimitri had begged her uncle to allow her to stay? Had asked his father and Lord Rodrigue to intervene on her behalf? What if he’d begged her mother to allow her to stay even just a little longer? She’d have missed the cruelty done to her siblings, would have born the guilt and weight of their deaths the moment she heard of it. Would have missed much of the pain and torture that had been her life for the next several years.

She would have been there when the Tragedy of Duscur happened and would have been there alongside Dimitri, Sylvain, Ingrid, and Felix when their families and friends were slaughtered before their very eyes. Would have seen him protect and would have helped him protect Dedue and other innocents. He wouldn’t have been alone, the sole survivor, it would have been both of them. Together. 

His dagger and her own and they would have fought as hard as they could to protect what little their pitiful strength could have.

And Claude… what if… if they had met sooner? If she had reached out to  _ him _ sooner during the beginning of their Academy days? He was an outsider, he had no known trail and she and Hubert had  _ tried _ to trace his tracks for the last several years. He might have had insight, the way he hinted during his dressing down of them both tonight, a different perspective and would have been able to work  _ with _ her to achieve what she so desired without as much blood being spilled. He could have kept her, and the rest of them, on their toes and made her so terribly angry she forgot herself. Could have made her  _ laugh _ in spite of her serious nature.

They might have been good together.

Her hand is gentle against Byleth’s forehead as she smooths the bright green hair out of her face. She rests her palm atop Byleth's head and just enjoys the moment of silent contact. She’s anchoring herself using her beloved teacher as a physical touchstone as she wades through the ‘what-ifs’ and ‘might-have-beens’ to look for an answer she can bring to their silly, misshapen ‘war table’. Right now, she has no answers: she has a multitude of fears, misgivings, and a lot of anger she has nowhere to direct but at herself and that isn’t helping her find a solution.

What kind of person would she have been like had Byleth come into her life sooner? If she would have had her  _ before _ her plans really started taking off and bearing results she couldn’t find it in her to argue with? If Byleth had been there the entire time instead of showing up  _ now _ after the last five years?

Would she still be on this bloody path?

Was it too late…?


	23. Save Us 9 (House Leaders x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introspection is important.

Edelgard returns to her corner and angles herself away from all of them. Her shoulders are hunched about her ears and her arms are wrapped around her sides. He can’t see her face, but he guesses whatever seeing the Professor’s face did is something she doesn’t want the rest of them to see. Typical of her. Dimitri rises from his corner and stalks over to make sure Edelgard didn’t poison Byleth in her sleep. At least, that’s what he tells himself he’s doing as he sits down exactly where she had and finds himself doing much the same. 

The shadows under her eyes are a match for his own and Dimitri wonders just what Byleth dreams about while she sleeps. Does she even dream at all? Does she hear the voices of those she’s killed or are responsible for? Does Jeralt appear to her?

Does she blame herself for Jeralt’s death?

He doesn’t know the answers to any of these questions and he doesn’t know if he  _ wants _ to. It would be investing in someone else. Another person who will be taken away from him the moment he begins to let his guard down. Another voice to join the rest who torment him day in and day out, begging him to avenge them. He’s distanced himself as much as possible from those who still remain to force their hold on him to lengthen. He wants that bond to be dissolved so  _ they _ don’t join the ranks either and he doesn’t have to see their gore streaked bodies and twisted faces every single day.

He’s trying to protect them from himself, and in turn, protect himself from them. 

The path of isolation he has walked all these years, the road of vengeance and retaliation for what  _ they _ stole from him. What Edelgard… what… who even could he blame anymore? For so long, so long it had been her. It had been  _ easy _ because she was so flippant, so casual about denying her involvement it had to have been her responsible for it all. For his father, for Glenn… for his stepmother and his people slaughtered like human chattel. 

Goddess take him, he  _ needs _ easy for once in his life. Something,  _ anything _ that will give him direction and aim in this endless torment and revenge is easy. Living for revenge, for hatred, and for the sole purpose of killing  _ one person _ is easy and it’s simple. He doesn’t have to think about it. He doesn’t need to think about the consequences of what happens after because he knows what it’ll take to kill someone like her and it  _ will _ cost him his life.

Dimitri has been accepting of this, has been  _ ready _ to pay that cost and now he can feel it slipping from his grasp.

Had he just seen the fear in her eyes when they were children, he may have intervened. Begged Lord Arundel to allow her just one more day so that he might have convinced his father and stepmother to keep her there, with him, with  _ them _ and he could have introduced her to Sylvain, Ingrid, and Felix. To Glenn and Rodrigue and Gilbert. He could… he could have protected her,  _ saved _ her from what she went back to the Empire and faced alone. She would have been there like he had when the Tragedy of Duscur occurred. He might have lost her. She might have helped him take action and both of them might have come out of it scarred, scared, and had  _ each other _ to lean on in the end.

It could have been the two of them against the world. Together. The dagger he gave her is still heavy on his hip.

No.

His hands are dyed red in the blood of those he’s slaughtered in the name of revenge. Out of rage and impatience. He’s done so much wrong in the name of pursuing what is right-- Edelgard’s death-- that he can’t… he doesn’t see another way out. There  _ isn’t _ any other way for him but to continue down the path he has. Everything he has done up to now, the time at the Academy, the training he threw himself into,  _ all of it _ has been for revenge. Because even back then, even as a child… the dead were there. They will not release him, not so easily, and he can’t… he doesn’t  _ deserve _ to live for himself. He can’t. There’s nothing he can do but this.

But tonight… but the words of Claude and Edelgard. The scars on the latter’s body, the fury and helplessness in the former’s eyes as he tries to persuade him of a different way. Dimitri finds himself questioning, again, whether he has it in him to continue as he has been. They make it sound so easy, so simple. He can just… he can  _ live _ for himself, not for the sake of the dead, not for revenge or anything of that sort.

_ You seem to have all the answers, Professor. _ His hand reaches out and covers the top of her own.  _ Tell me. Please… _

Is it too late for someone like him?

Can he still turn back?

\--

Claude watches Dimitri retreat back to his corner of the hut and slump back to the hard-packed dirt. His eye closes and he seems to be dozing off. The hard lines around his mouth and the way his brow furrows, kinda like Teach’s, indicate he’s fighting the same internal war that Edelgard must be on the opposite end of the room. He gets up and heads back over to sit beside her, the way they both had, and just watches her sleep.

_ I did what I could, Teach. The rest is up to them now… and up to you. Even if we reach some sort of agreement to end the war between the three of us, we have the Church of Seiros to deal with. I dunno about you, but I don’t foresee them being quite as forgiving as the rest of us pretend to be. _ He thinks. He removes one of his gauntlets and gently brushes his knuckles against her cheek and allows himself the indulgence of that one small bit of contact.

What is he going to do if they don’t reach an impasse?

He can’t go and die, not to Edelgard, Dimitri, or even Byleth herself. He has too much riding on this plan succeeding. Almyra needs him, Fodlan… debatable as to whether or not he’s a good fit for this place, he’d rather leave it in Byleth’s hands or anyone who’s willing to prove they will do whatever it takes to accomplish matters in his stead. He’s going to have to insist that she kills him last and figure out a way to incapacitate or otherwise slip out when she’s not looking. She knows that too, given her earlier statement, and will make sure he’s first as a result. 

Not looking good for him so far, and even his tactically inclined brain is having a hard time coming up with an outcome in his favor that doesn’t involve severe injuries on all their parts, if not flat out death.

If they manage to pull this off, it’ll be the greatest upset the history books will have ever known. A war started and ended by the same person as a direct result of diplomatic strategy and negotiations all taking place in the worst blizzard in history. It’d be an excellent argument from a religious angle, Claude realizes after a moment and seizes on the opportunity to start planning how they’re going to present this to the Church. 

The Goddess saw fit to bring them all together, enemies every last one of them, and trap them in a location until they resolve their differences and agree to put an end to this senseless war. The storm raged for hours, maybe they can even swing it for  _ days _ if they plan accordingly, and refused to quiet until they had come to terms and allied themselves once more for the good of  _ all _ of Fodlan.

_ That’s so textbook fairytale I’m surprised there’s no happy ending where Fodlan is suddenly blessed with abundance, wealth, and prosperity for all. _ He laughs quietly under his breath at his ridiculous spin on the whole thing. The devout would eat it up. The Archbishop and Seteth?

Doubtful.  _ Highly _ doubtful even if Byleth is the one to tell them such. 

_ This would be a lot easier if I knew what Seteth and the Archbishop were really thinking.  _ He laments not knowing either of them well enough to be able to predict how they think or act. He doubts Archbishop Rhea is going to be anywhere close to forgiving, not after the Western Church fiasco and the whole thing with Miklan.

Dimitri’s crimes and whatever his own they find out about? Those could be forgiven, probably, through some divine loophole and logic twisting on their part. But Edelgard… what are they going to do about her? They can’t allow her to be killed after all the effort put into getting her to call the damn thing off, it’d just reignite the flame of war all over again.

He leans his head against the cold stone behind him and sighs. Eyes closed, he keeps trying to find an angle that’ll result in the perfect outcome, the path of difficult but still least resistance that gets them back to where they were  _ before _ the war broke out. Even if he gives up his role as Alliance leader, happily at this point, and Edelgard cedes the throne, and Dimitri chooses to abdicate as well… what good will it do? What good will come from the three of them stepping down if that’s the price of their forgiveness?

It’ll get Byleth back into Garreg Mach, back into a position of power she doesn’t want any more than he’s wanted either of his. That’s almost enough to make it worth it. Especially since she has clout with the Archbishop and Seteth both and might be able to do a little diplomatic dancing to make sure they’re not totally stripped of all power and decision making. 

His eyes open and he looks down at Byleth one more time. His knuckles graze against the soft skin of her cheek one more time before he withdraws his hand entirely. They didn’t agree on much of anything, but if there’s one thing his observations in the last several hours have given him keen insight on? It’s the strength of their feelings, whatever those might be and in whatever sense or form they may take, for the woman sleeping in front of him may just be strong enough to carry them through this storm.

Claude rises and heads back to their war table and settles his stiff body back down in preparation for what is going to be the longest, most difficult political round of negotiations and back-and-forth that he’s ever held in his life. 

_ You’re the only trump card I have left, Teach, let’s hope our feelings are enough. _


	24. Save Us 10 (House Leaders x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The debate wages on.

They take their places at the ‘table’ in complete silence. 

Edelgard and Dimitri sit across from one another, just as they had before the intermission, and Claude sits with his back to Byleth. He chose the position both to be something of a shield, just in case things got ugly, and also to make sure he focuses on these two idiots. A quick glance to each of them reveals some telling information; Edelgard’s eyes are red and puffy, she’s been crying and would deny it to her dying day, and Dimitri’s visible eye isn’t much better off and the furrows in his brow are deeper than before. 

Both of them look as though he’s just called them to their own execution and, as far as any of them know, he has. 

“Before we begin, are there any unanswered questions any of us have for each other?” He asks, his own voice strained. “Could be our last chance, might as well get it out in the open now.”

“I have two.” Dimitri speaks up, his voice rougher than it has been during their time together. He pauses for a moment. “Possibly three.” 

“Go for it.” He’ll hold back until he hears what Dimitri has to say.

As he predicted, the lone blue eye lands on Edelgard. There’s the barest hint of a flinch but she steels herself and holds eye contact with him. “Do you swear by what is most sacred to you, on the spirits and graves of your family, that you genuinely had no knowledge of nor hand in the Tragedy of Duscur?”

She does not look away, but she does flinch at the gravity of what he demands her to swear on. “With everything I hold sacred to me, on the graves and lives of the Hresvelg line, Dimitri, I had  _ nothing _ to do with the Tragedy of Duscur.” She seems at a loss for what to say and, with the knowledge it could be one of their last conversations, speaks once more. 

“I know who is responsible and the Professor, as well as you, Claude, and others have killed some of them. The rest are slated to-” she stops herself. “...will be slated to die, should I survive this.” 

It’s not the answer he wants out of her and they all know it. Even the knowledge that she  _ knows _ those responsible isn’t enough to give whatever he’s looking for. His jaw tightens, he inclines his head just the barest amount to acknowledge her answer, and he pushes forward to ask his next question. 

“Did you order Sir Jeralt’s assassination?”

“ _ No _ .” Her answer is instantaneous and venomous enough even Dimitri’s eye widens in response. “I would  _ never _ have ordered him assassinated. If anything I…” 

Edelgard trails off. Her eyes close and she shakes her head. “I would have… if anyone aside from the Professor, I may have been willing to speak with  _ him _ after some time had passed. He didn’t trust the Archbishop and wasn’t fond of the Church of Seiros.”

Her eyes open again, her expression furious. “I am  _ glad _ of Kronya and Solon’s deaths. I wish only that I would have been there to witness, if not put them to the blade myself.” 

She looks to Dimitri again and studies his face. She can’t read him, not anymore, and she wishes she could. “You… had a third question? Or was that everything?”

“Why did you order our assassinations?”

“It was the quickest way I could think of to eliminate any possibility of resistance to my plan; you would have died defending other students from harm and become heroes, well-loved and fondly remembered, and your deaths would have…”

“They would have been used to sow distrust in the Church and add more sympathy to your cause, especially if you were the sole survivor. You could have recruited from the Alliance and the Kingdom to help you avenge the deaths of your classmates.” Claude finishes for her. “Something like that, right?” 

She nods. It sounds so…  _ childish _ now that he says it aloud. It had been a wonderful idea,  _ brilliant _ even when she’d first thought of it. There were too many holes in that plan now that she was older and looked at it again. “Perhaps the Professor was right, we  _ were _ merely children with a child’s perspective.”

“Not exactly, it might have gone over a lot better than you think if you’d managed to pull it off.” He replies with a wince as he calculates the responses the Alliance  _ and _ his home country would have had in response. Mourning, the potential demand for answers, some celebrating on the side of the families he really didn’t care for, and then retaliation. 

“How do you figure, Claude?” Dimitri asks. He’s still absorbing the last answer she’d given him and trying to work through how he felt about it. 

“Normally I like my secrets where they are, but the situation we’re in doesn’t leave me a lot of secrets I can afford to keep.” He doesn’t look pleased by the admission and like he would rather not confess whatever he’s about to. “You know I’m the grandson of old man Riegan, why I’m the leader of the Alliance as a result, all that history.” 

They both nod, Edelgard interested and Dimitri trying to figure out what the revelation could possibly be. 

“Well, that’s on my mother’s side of the family. Which, hey, you both should have gotten fostered with her. That would have been a life-changer.” It’s a poor attempt at a joke and, for the first time, gives the other two leaders a glimpse into a side of Claude they don’t know. “There’s no easy way of saying this, so we’ll just get it out there; my father is the King of Almyra.” 

“He’s  _ what _ ?” Edelgard is floored, and not a touch unshaken by the reveal. “That would have-”

“Caused an international incident? Oh yeah. That would have been a war they’d have gladly gone to. Especially if your little scheme had gone according to plan.”

“Who… who all knows of this?” She’s floored. Absolutely, completely floored. Had she known of this earlier, she might not have even tried to assassinate him. She would have tried to negotiate, see if she could get the Almyran and Alliances forces on  _ her _ side and that would have bolstered her numbers well beyond what the Kingdom and Church combined could have thrown at her. 

A glance to Dimitri reveals he’s in just as much shock as she is-- and he’s also contemplating the numbers had he reached out to the Alliance, to Claude, as well. It could have easily turned the tides against her.

Claude offered them both a wry look. “My grandfather, my father’s family, and my mother. Some of the others in House Riegan, I think. But it wasn’t something the Fodlan side has been particularly proud of, you understand. And now you two.” 

“This is hardly responsible behavior, given your position as leader of the Alliance  _ and _ the heir to the Almyran throne, Claude.” Dimitri admonishes him. “Knowing full well that your death, even at the Professor’s hand, may very well spark an international war and yet…”

“And yet half of me is still from Fodlan.” Claude responds firmly. “Believe me, I’ve had that speech beaten into my head at least a half dozen times. That’s why my life, as much as it pains me to say this, is quite literally in your hands right now.” 

He grins. “Now that my big secret is out and what’s at stake on  _ my _ end is on the table, any other questions?”

Edelgard inclines her head. “I have one. Well, two, potentially. Depending on the answer to the first.”

Claude nods. “Let’s hear ‘em, and then I have two for you both.”

In spite of the floor being offered to her, Edelgard is silent. She has the questions. She knows how to word them, how to ask them, but it’s the  _ asking _ of the questions themselves that she finds herself terrified to do. The answers will hurt, she knows this and is fully prepared to accept whatever comes her way, especially with Claude holding what’s a likely pair of verbal blades ready for the kill. But it’s… it’s the unknown. It’s the fear of hope that has started to kindle itself. That this may turn out well in the long run, and that her path no longer has to be walked alone with Hubert slaughtering her enemies from the shadows and urging her forward in hopes she will find her way.

It’s the fear that it  _ won’t _ turn out well and that her death will arrive the moment Byleth wakes up and she will have caused  _ more _ havoc than she intended to and spark an entirely different war as a result.

“If…” she begins and falters. This is  _ hard _ for her. “If the war ends… what. What should I do to prove myself as… as a willing participant in this… whatever this is to become?”

Neither of them were expecting the question and stare at her, uncomprehending. She pushes forward in a rush before she loses her nerve. “I ordered your assassinations, which failed due to the Professor, I used you all in some degree or another to further my plans, I attacked the Academy and I-”

Dimitri holds his hand to cut her off. She falls silent and braces for the damning words she deserves and doesn’t want to hear. “We know what you have done, not all of it, but enough.” 

“I  _ could _ take full advantage of that question, just so you’re aware, but I won’t. This time. You might not get off so easily if you end up in the hot seat again, Miss Emperor.” Claude replies. “I can’t speak for every House in the Alliance, even if that’s technically my role, but for me, personally?”

Edelgard watches him intently, waiting.

He frowns and scratches the back of his head. “Honestly, reparations are a start and will be in high demand, so we can sort that out later. That’s what I can think of as  _ a leader _ , but if you’re asking about  _ me _ , Claude von Riegan?”

He lets himself look at her,  _ really _ look at her. The fear, the hope, the feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop at any given moment. She really is just as terrified as the rest of them, how hadn’t they seen that before? Why hadn’t  _ he _ seen it? “An apology is a good start, I’ll accept that when you’re ready to give it-- but I want action too. I want you to talk to me,  _ really _ talk to me, to  _ us _ if Dimitri’s interested, and I know Teach will be.” 

“That’s… it?”

“Hey, talk isn’t cheap, and you have a lot of secrets I want to know all about.” Claude points out. “And some of those are not going to be ones you want to give up, so consider the hours of future discomfort and intensely personal questions your punishment on my part.”

She can scarcely breathe. This isn’t going the way she anticipated. They should have shut her down, demanded her life as penance for her crimes and what she’s done. Claude’s demand for unfiltered information, state secrets in all likelihood and things that would grant the Alliance and Almyra an advantage over the Empire was a costly price, but not as much as he could demand from her. He could have her throne. They  _ should _ demand her throne and that she be exiled in disgrace .

It takes everything in her to look at Dimitri and await what  _ his _ answer will be.


	25. Save Us 11 (House Leaders x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hardest thing one can do is live.

What is he supposed to say to her?

What price can he possibly demand of her that will silence the screaming of the dead and the damned? That will satisfy Glenn, his father, stepmother… that will satisfy them and their desire for revenge? What can she give  _ him _ that will replace his need for vengeance, for the  _ one thing _ he has lived his life for-- what  _ she _ has lived her life for-- and make it less empty? She has the Empire, he can demand she crush it, and thus everything she has built it upon, to ashes and be left with nothing. He can have her exiled, worthless in the eyes of all and eliminate her line permanently the way he nearly was by Cordelia. 

He can ask for her life, but what good would it be to demand her life if she, like he himself, cares enough for it only to fulfill her end goal and die immediately after?

“I do not have an answer.” Dimitri finally replies. “As much as I try, I cannot give you a price that fits the severity of your sins, of the betrayal and the hurt that you have caused.”

He watches her grow still and close her eyes as though the sentence is death. Claude sucks in a sharp breath, green eyes snapping fire in preparation to argue against the decision. They believe he would condemn them  _ all _ to the eternal flame rather than choose life. And, had it even been one  _ day _ prior… that very well may have been his decision. A sacrifice he would have been more than willing to make, damn the consequences, and released his threadbare grip on life and sanity. 

His voice is rougher than he would have liked and he wants the lump in his throat to  _ leave _ him already. This is no time for emotion, for displays or paltry  _ feelings _ . “That is not to say I have no thought on the matter, I will… I will have to consult with those left in the Kingdom to see what  _ they _ desire from the Empire as payment for the blood you have shed.”

Violet eyes snap open and, for a moment, he sees Edelgard as she was; a small, bossy brunette who loved to dance and the flash of fear when her uncle had called her to leave. She has white hair now. She’s older and dressed in the same shade of red her hands, as well as his own, are permanently stained in. 

“And for you?” The words are a whisper and they shatter something within him.

Dimitri removes the gauntlet and glove off of one hand. The damned thing seems to move of its own accord and withdraws the dagger, carefully maintained even to this day, from its place on his hip and offers it to her as he had so long ago. Claude tenses, Edelgard grows stiller as their eyes lock on the blue sheath and silver filigree. She looks from the dagger to him once more. 

He can’t hear what she says over the sound of the screaming and wailing of the dead, but the shape of her lips forms his name and ends in a question.

“Your life, Edelgard,” he tells her. The thunder of his own heart adding to the chaos in his ears. ““If I must live with the voices, with the weight of the lives I have taken and the blood on my hands, so must you; death is a release for you, and so I condemn you, I  _ sentence  _ you to live and to forever remember what you have done to the people of Fodlan.” 

“You have to find a reason beyond revenge to live-- even if that means giving up your revenge entirely. If you cannot do this, if you refuse…” He can’t breathe. His lungs won’t cooperate and he’s unable to get air in or out. The world slips in and out of focus and his fingers feel numb and tingle all at once. What voice he has comes out harsh, choked. 

“I will kill you here,  _ now _ , and the consequences be damned.”

“Dimi-”

“ _ Choose _ , Edelgard; will you live even if it means giving up your revenge?”

He knows what he is asking of her and he  _ needs _ her to make the decision. It’s not just for her, it’s for him as well. They are stuck on the same path from opposing sides. Two blood-soaked, broken people who have no business in the world of the living with how many sins weigh on their souls living only for the day they can take one another down and perish in return. If she can’t do it, neither can he. She condemns them both and he will willingly take them both to the flames of hell where they both belong in an instant.

She removes her glove once again, puckered scars purple from the cold, and reaches out to place her hand on top of the sheathed dagger resting in his palm. Her eyes are tear-bright and threatening to overflow at any moment. Cheeks red from the effort to hold herself back and maintain control, she’s taking the smallest, shallowest breaths she can to keep from bursting into tears in front of them. She can’t. It’s not something the Emperor of Adrestia can afford to do, not at such a crucial moment.

“I will live.” 

It’s the hardest three words she’s ever had to say in her life. Declaring war on the Church, threatening her beloved teacher,  _ none _ of that was as difficult as taking an oath, the  _ punishment _ that she will have to live and committing to it. 

She blinks to clear the blur and feels two hot trails slide down her cheeks, leaving a chill in their wake. She can’t see Dimitri’s face through the haze, but his expression is not so different than her own and his eye is suspiciously bright too. Claude’s hand settles on top of Edelgard’s own. He’d removed his glove as well. He says nothing, and neither does Dimitri. It’s a moment beyond words and none of them have any idea what they can possibly do aside from stare at their hands resting atop one another in silent agreement.

A fourth hand reaches between Edelgard and Dimitri and settles into place.

“My teacher…” Edelgard whispers.

“Professor.” Dimitri can hardly choke the word out.

“Teach.” Claude’s voice is softer than any of them remember hearing. 

Byleth holds their hands together, supporting them from above and below, and gives her wayward students one of her rare but genuine smiles. 

\--

Sleeping arrangements are awkward, given the cold and the lack of blankets between the four of them. Byleth has one, as does Claude. Dimitri and Edelgard have their cloaks. It’s a frustrating struggle, but Byleth and Claude sew the edges of the blanket together, as well as the cloaks, to form something big enough for them all to fit beneath. Dimitri, as the tallest, forms something of the base as he sits against the wall with the fur draped over his shoulders and looks  _ entirely _ uncomfortable with the fact that Byleth is between his legs, her back against his chest. On her right, tucked as closely as she can without actually climbing  _ into _ Byleth and, to a lesser extent, Dimitri’s body itself, is Edelgard. Claude is on her left and likewise tucked as close to both of them as possible. 

Byleth carefully settles the blankets atop Claude, Edelgard, and herself-- Dimitri’s legs as well-- and twists to make sure her coat, as well as the furs and the three cloaks were sewn together, are tucked around Dimitri’s shoulders to keep  _ him _ warm in return. Dimitri has a difficult time looking at her, at  _ any _ of them, and she doesn’t press him on what goes through his mind. 

He had no reason to trust Claude or Edelgard, especially the latter, and he chose to be reckless at exactly the right moment. 

She has one arm wrapped around Edelgard’s waist, holding her close as the last of the damp places from the Emperor’s cheek against her chest dries up. The other is wrapped around Claude’s as well and his head rests against her shoulder. He’s dozing, not completely asleep and still awake enough she could goad him into speaking if she so wishes. She tilts her head up to try and see Dimitri’s face. 

Byleth leans back a little, twice in short succession, to get his attention. His lone eye looks down at her and she gives him a brief, understanding nod and smile before she leaned her back fully into his chest. He freezes, as she anticipates he would, and his arms slowly move to slide around her waist. After a moment of hesitation, Dimitri opts to pull her closer. When she doesn’t move or comment, something in him relaxes just a little and his head lowers, chin resting on top of her head and lingers. 

His arms stay wrapped around her, anchoring himself in the present. He knows the moment Byleth drifts off to sleep and Claude’s doze turns into a full, exhausted slumber. Edelgard has been deep asleep for the last thirty minutes or so, having quietly wept herself into slumber against the Professor’s chest earlier. He focuses on trying to drown out the screams he still hears with the sound of Byleth and Claude’s deep, even breathing, the scent of Byleth’s hair, and the warmth of three bodies pressed against his own.

_ I do not know for whom or what I now live for any better than Edelgard does. She sentenced us to live a life of penance, to continue to live where death would be most welcome.  _ Dimitri thinks to himself and catches the faintest shudder of breath from the woman in question.  _ So now we both must live, and find what there is worth living for now that revenge is no longer a complete option. _

That answer is one they will be forced to find, together, and he finds it strangely comforting that the Professor and Claude will be there to watch over them both in the process.


	26. Trepidation (Edelgard x Dimitri)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri wakes to find Claude and Byleth missing. Left behind is the one person he probably shouldn't be left alone with under any circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever sit there writing and go, "Wow. This should probably be its own fic?" and decide, "We've gone this far already, so let's keep going and see what happens." ?
> 
> That's me. That's what 'Save Us' has become. I wanted cute and angsty and comfort blanket fic. I got plotty bullshit instead. Thanks brain, thanks.

Dimitri wakes to find Edelgard, Claude, and Byleth missing. 

An ugly suspicion creeps in before he can help it and he expects to see an ambush awaiting him, bloodstains on the ground and the evidence of a struggle. Nothing thus far, but he cannot be sure. He expects betrayal still even after… after all that was said and done. A closer look reveals identifying details; all of their gear is still there-- Claude’s bow is missing and Byleth’s blade too-- and the cloaks and blankets are still as they were. 

Dimitri doesn’t know whether he’s disappointed or relieved to see Edelgard, alone, standing at the far corner with her eyes locked on something out the window. 

He watches her profile for a time. She doesn’t blink often at first, occasionally blinking twice in rapid succession before she returns to whatever has her preoccupied. Her brow furrows, her eyes grow suspiciously bright-- she blinks rapidly in those moments-- and her lips thin into a white line. Occasionally she’ll shift her weight from one foot to the other but otherwise doesn’t move from the spot she stands. 

Watching for a little longer allows him to see the point she begins to shiver and that decides his next course of action. He walks, quietly, over to her and intentionally lets his foot land a little heavier when he’s a couple of yards away to alert her to his presence. She jumps, as he expects, and her posture turns defensive as though she expects him to take full advantage of the silence to stab her in the back. Neither of them trust one another, it seems, and Dimitri is oddly heartened by the reaction. 

His upbringing demands that he inquire as to how she is, if she managed to get any sleep, and what seems to be troubling her. His history with her refuses to allow him so much as the option to voice concern or anything resembling a polite greeting. He sees the same frustration and internal battle reflected in her eyes before they both look away from one another. 

They’re still on opposing sides of the field and unsure of what their next move should be.

He removes the fur from his shoulders and drops it over her own as he stands beside her at the window and looks out into the winter landscape. Actions, in this case, are better than any of the words his traitorous mouth may have to offer. There aren’t many safe subjects he can speak of and vice versa. 

“They went to speak to Seteth.” Edelgard tells him after she can no longer stand the tension building between them. “We’re… not far from the monastery. They should return before dusk.”

_ And they believed it wise to leave the two of us behind? _ The question goes unspoken but he knows she has or has had, the same thought. Of any combination, the wisest option would have been to leave Claude with Edelgard and have  _ him _ attend the meeting alongside the Professor. What were they thinking? 

“Claude offered to stay behind with you. Or to wake you and see what it is you wished to do.” The words tumble out in a rush. “You were sleeping so soundly that we-- they-- were reluctant to rouse you. I… I told them to go.”

Edelgard  _ willingly _ stayed behind? His eye narrows. That would be a perfect opportunity for Imperial forces to storm in and begin the execution. He strains his ears, listening for any unusual sounds that might reveal an enemy’s location outside the hut. 

“Was it one of my troops who…” She stops herself from finishing the question. Her hands grip the fur he’s left around her shoulders tightly. How is she supposed to interpret his actions and his silence? What is she supposed to do with the time,  _ so much time _ , left between now and when the other two will return?

Dimitri shakes his head and keeps his gaze out the window. “Who what?” His voice is deeper than she remembers it being, raspier than before. Is it because he’s just woken up? 

“Your eye.” She replies after a moment. “Did they… are they responsible for your eye?”

He looks down at her, surprise clear on his face, and he reaches up to touch the black cover. “No. This was not Imperial work, nor was it at the hands of the w- Cordelia.” His voice is bitter as he says the name. He lifts the patch to show her the scar. The eye is a little paler in color compared to the uninjured one but it focuses just as well on her face. “It narrows my sight a little, but it does not interfere with fighting.”

“I see.” She wants to tell him she’s glad, but it's cheap and highly inappropriate to do so. 

“Do they hurt?” He asks after a moment. 

“Pardon?” She looks up at him. 

“Your scars.” He gestures to the way her hands rub against her forearms. “Do they pain you still?”

She forces her hands to be still. “...occasionally.” It’s difficult to be honest about such a sensitive topic. He was forthcoming with his eye after her, now that she looks back on it, highly intrusive question. She has to make the effort in return. Even with so much tension and unspoken  _ everything  _ between them.

Even if progress is slow, she must make the effort and find a way for him to believe that she  _ does _ want this to work out.

\--

“I have an idea.” Edelgard blurts out after a couple of hours have passed. 

Dimitri has finished maintaining and repairing his armor and weapons, has completed work on what remains of Byleth’s and Claude’s as well. He’s been working on finding a way to approach his former enemy in regards to  _ her _ armor and weaponry just to give him something to do other than watch her pace and stare out the window. Neither of them are particularly good at being idle and there is very little they can do  _ other _ than wait. 

He looks up and lifts an eyebrow in her direction, awaiting elaboration on her part.

“The Professor usually carries around training equipment, does she not?” She had at the Academy, even during their missions they were responsible for waking up each day and going through their paces. 

“She does.” He’s already made sure those are in prime form and not in need of replacing or repair. “Sword, gauntlets, lance, and axe.” 

The look on her face is nothing short of relief. “Do you think she would mind terribly if we were to borrow it?” 

“Unlikely.” He pauses. “Why?”

“I am going to drive myself to madness if I have to stare at the unchanging scenery a moment longer.” Edelgard replies with enough exasperation it almost gets him to smile. “I need to do  _ something _ other than pace, sit, and window gaze. Training is exactly what I need to keep busy since you have already beaten me to equipment maintenance and inventory organization.”

The words come out before she understands what she’s asking of him, of  _ both _ of them. “Would you care to join me?” It shows a moment later when she freezes and looks as though she wants to find a way to rescind the offer.

It would, in every sense of the word, be the worst idea for them. The worst match up they could have possibly come up with. There is too much damage they have done to one another, too many hurt feelings, too much betrayal and resentment and  _ guilt _ there to make it anywhere close to a good idea. 

Naturally, Dimitri is on board with the offer.

It isn’t a chance to beat her down without mercy or consequence. It’s not just because it  _ is _ a bad idea or because the Professor’s words of warning still ring in his ears. It’s a chance to understand her in a way that doesn’t require either of them to struggle with choosing the ‘right’ words and worrying about overstepping whatever fragile boundaries they have in place. Training weapons can still do quite a bit of damage, especially when wielded by someone of his strength, but it shouldn’t be fatal. Painful, not fatal, and he can live with that.

“Are you sure that is wise?” He keeps his tone and expression neutral.

Her expression says ‘no’ loud and clear but the stubbornness inherent in her eyes says she’s unwilling to back down now that she’s made the offer. “No,” Edelgard admits after a moment of deliberation. “I would even wager it is the  _ opposite _ of a wise decision and enters the territory of ‘asking for trouble’.”

“But I want to do it anyway.” There’s a fragile half-smile on her lips at the admission. He hasn’t seen her smile even half as genuinely in the last nigh-six years. “Unless you are unwilling?”

Rejecting her would be in their best interest. He doesn’t know how much of his temper, how much of what he has yet to sort through is able to be kept from every blow he will aim her way.

“Let us make it more interesting then.” Dimitri has her attention and notes the curiosity, wary as it is, replacing the reluctance in her gaze. He retrieves the training weapons from their place in Byleth’s pack and spreads them out for her to choose from. “The first one to gain three points is allowed to ask any question they wish and the one defeated must respond truthfully.”

He doesn’t expect her face to light up at the challenge and part of him is suddenly worried that he’s borrowed more trouble than what he’s prepared to handle. She always has been competitive, in some regards, and this is the type of game she enjoys the most; clear, concise rules and a defined prize. 

“I accept the challenge.” 

Dimitri wonders if he’s lost his mind as he takes up the training lance and settles into place. 


	27. Trepidation 2 (Edelgard x Dimitri)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Workout buddies are always welcome.

It has been a long, long time since she has been driven to defend herself so thoroughly.

Longer still since Edelgard has genuinely enjoyed herself in a training bout where she doesn’t need to hold back for fear of injuring her partner. He makes her work for any ground she takes, for any advantage she may have against him, and he’s keeping her on her guard in case some nasty little trick he comes up with gets through. Her defense, she thinks as she looks for an opening and spies one on his right side, is a little better than his own. The loud  _ thwack _ of wood against wood echoes in the room as the blocked strike jars her arm. He’s stronger than she is, however, and a touch faster, as reluctant as she is to admit it. Her strengths and his make them a pair who will, if nothing else, have to rely on wearing the other down until they yield. A battle of endurance and strategy rather than brute force. 

She can  _ feel _ the bruise his spear will leave behind as it slams into her side and hisses as the impact stings. “Point.” Damn him, that was the third successful hit in a row on his part. Maybe she’s getting a little too tired to keep it up.

“Acknowledged.” Dimitri replies and retreats back to the ‘starting’ side of the room. He doesn’t inquire as to whether or not she is okay to continue. In fact, he’s said very little other than to acknowledge any points she has scored on him and vice versa. 

‘Point.’

‘Acknowledged.’

Return to their respective sides of the room, turn to face one another, and repeat. 

It’s been… easy. Simple. Straight forward and relatively painless.

Her bruises tell her otherwise, but the one blooming on his cheek and the way he shifts that left shoulder say she’s not entirely on the losing end. She had her second through fifth guesses on offering to spar with him. After all, anyone in their right mind and without supervision would happily take the offer up as an excuse to beat their once mortal enemy into the ground without a shred of compassion or mercy to be had. An excuse to punish and dominate where they had been denied in the past.

“Call it?” He inquires after a moment. 

Edelgard considers it and glances to the window. The shadows on the snow are taking on a darker blue color and it’s beyond time that they should probably start thinking about eating something. The score is currently four to two and if she can snag that last point off of him, he’ll only have one more question to ask her than she will him. 

“Once more,” she tells him and settles into a familiar stance. “and hold nothing back.”

\--

She earned her point and she is  _ exhausted _ after the intensity of the final round. Edelgard flops ungracefully onto the ground and drains her waterskin. “You,” she tells Dimitri as soon as she catches her breath. “are beyond a worthy opponent. I have not been so challenged in quite some time.”

Dimitri is staring at her. He has said nothing or given notice to the compliment she gave him regarding his skill. He’s just… staring with a contemplative look on his face that she’s not sure how to interpret. 

“What?” She sounds more defensive than she cares to and risks looking down at herself to see if she’s exposed herself in some inappropriate manner or another. Her hand goes to her hair. Is it sticking up? Is it falling out of the buns again?

“You… smiled.” He finally responds after a moment.

“I smile.” She protests. “I smiled at the Academy.”

“Not like that.” His words are damning and the worst part is that he’s  _ right _ . “You genuinely appeared to enjoy yourself.”

“I did.” Edelgard agrees. “Very much, at that. I don’t suppose you would be willing to accompany me in the future?”

“I will consider it.” He says, the corner of his mouth curving up. “It isn’t often I find someone able to withstand a direct hit.”

“That makes two of us.” 

This is not at all what she had expected out of the two of them being left alone together. A fight of a different nature, heated and bitter words and accusations, another loud back-and-forth while they pick at one another’s open wounds and refuse to allow the other the final word. Silence stretching into eternity as they remain on opposing sides of the room. 

Instead, he takes her waterskin and heads outside to refill it with fresh, clean snow. Like they were old friends who finished a thorough training bout meant to keep their teamwork strong and their skills sharp instead of bitter enemies hanging on to a fragile truce. He didn’t hold back, but neither did he go out of his way to hurt her the way he, and she if Edelgard is being honest, very well could have. 

She set him up to do so. The training bout  _ was _ to keep her mind from wandering into the dark thoughts that await a moment of true solitude. But it also served another purpose; a chance to give him a guilt-free opportunity to hurt her the way he has wanted to for so long. She can take a beating, she’s done it in the past on numerous occasions. And at his hands… she feels as though she deserves it, if only  _ once _ , and that offering the opportunity to him is another way she can make amends.

But he didn’t take it and she doesn’t understand  _ why _ .

“What was the final score?” She asks, knowing full well what it is but wanting to hear him say it nonetheless.

“Four to three. My win.” 

He settles down beside her. Not close enough to touch without leaning over and making the effort to do so. But neither is he on the other side of the room and as far away from her as possible. She leaned her head back to rest against the wall and closed her eyes. 

“Why did you agree to end the war?”

Her eyes open again and she turns her head enough to look at him. He’s staring straight ahead at the door. She watches the clumps of snow from his entry melt against the dirt floor and looks back to his profile again. “First question?”

He inclines his head. 

Why did she end it…? She lets her head return to the way it was and looks to the ceiling above her. “A good question, and in the spirit of honesty, I’m not sure I know.”

“Claude’s revelation certainly helped in the decision; I wanted to  _ unite _ Fodlan, not plunge it into an international war. I  _ still _ can’t believe he’s the heir to the Almyran throne.” What an unexpected twist  _ that _ had been. She hears a quick huff of laughter from Dimitri and feels the corners of her mouth curve up in response. 

“But that isn’t the only reason.” He prompts her to continue.

She shakes her head once. “No, it’s not the only reason. I suppose… I’m tired.” 

“You’re tired?” The answer doesn’t make sense as he repeats it. 

Edelgard nods and closes her eyes once more. “I have to be in control, always, as the Emperor. I have done so since it was forced from me as a child. I enjoy leadership and I like to think I have a talent for it. I enjoy resolving conflict and directing others to fix matters, be it in their own lives or on a grander scale.” 

She hates the responsibility and the stress but loves the results.

“Back during the Academy days, I would want so badly to have one day. One normal day where I could… do nothing but eat sweets, laze about, or do any number of other things that had nothing to do with my status and responsibilities as Emperor. I could not be seen as inferior, as  _ weak _ to those around me. Especially not with Solon, Kronya, and Jeritza keeping an eye on me.”

Edelgard pauses and corrects the last statement. “Jeritza not as much as the other two. I’m not certain he particularly cared for Kronya or Solon.” Or her uncle, for that matter. He’s offered twice to ‘get rid’ of him discreetly and she’s told him no both times, worried that it was a trap to test her loyalty. 

She opens her eyes again and traces the whorls on the wooden beam above her. It didn’t feel like it was enough of an answer, a  _ good _ answer. One that he could and would accept without further question. “It’s childish, but I am weary of being the Emperor, Flame or otherwise, and wish to be just… Edelgard for a change.”

There’s a little huff out of her in place of a laugh as she shakes her head. “Let’s go with that answer; I seized an opportunity that would strip me of my responsibility and control as Emperor in hopes I can be Edelgard von Hresvelg.”

Dimitri’s expression hasn’t changed in the time she’s spoken and she’s afraid to glance over again. What if he’s disappointed in the response? What if he believes it isn’t good enough? What if he believes her to be lying about the multifaceted reasons she has for agreeing to end this five-year war?

Edelgard forces herself to look his way. Her turn to ask him a question now. He’s still staring straight ahead of him. “Why did you... “ Which of the many questions is she even able to start with? She has three,  _ three _ to use and there’s no promise that any of them will give her anything she can use.

“Why did you decide on life for my penance?”

It’s a dark chuckle that answers her first. His head lowers, eye closed for a moment before he turns his head to look her way. “I realized your life mattered as much to you as my own happens to mean to me; nothing, so long as our goals are accomplished.”

Dimitri couldn’t have surprised her more if he had reached over and slapped her across the face.

He sighed, long and heavy, and propped his arm against his knee. “In the interest of full disclosure, that was half of it; I wanted to take away your death as a way to hurt you. To force you to survive and suffer as I and others have suffered. To  _ live _ with what wrongs you have done and agonize over them.”

“But that is not the only reason.” There’s a catch in his voice that draws Edelgard’s attention away from the fact that he’s shown remarkably keen insight. His brow furrows and the lines at the corner of his mouth deepen. “I wanted… to see how far gone you truly were. Were you the irredeemable monster I and many others in Fodlan consider you? How different could your aim be from my own desire for vengeance and how far we are willing to go?” 

His hand clenches briefly into a fist. “After listening to… everything,  _ truly _ listening, I came up with the idea. I told myself if you were willing to throw away your revenge, if you truly wished for… the end of this war, regardless of what it cost you, then I would have no choice but to accept the answer and believe you.”

“What would have happened had I answered differently?” The second question comes out before she can stop herself. His fist unclenches, two fingers lifting to show he is claiming it as her second of three questions, and he speaks briefly but succinctly on the matter.

“I would have slain you instantly.”


	28. Trepidation 3 (Edelgard x Dimitri)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pot meet Kettle.

“That would have resulted in your death.” Edelgard tells him, not entirely surprised by the answer but annoyed by it nonetheless. She expected him to want her dead and definitely expected him to be the one to deliver the final blow. But to be willing to do so at the cost of his own life so easily makes no sense to her.

He can see the number of questions coming to mind. What of his Kingdom and the rest of Fodlan? His childhood friends, that retainer of his? What of the Professor? Weren’t they reason enough to continue to live?

His eye moves back to the door. It’s safer than watching her expressions shift, subtle as they are, to alarm and then calculating and back again. She is easier to read than Byleth by a long shot, but they are similar enough in their stoicism that it’s difficult for him to tolerate longer than a few moments at a time. After a moment or two, he nods to confirm the statement. “Yes, it would have.”

“And you found that acceptable?” The disbelief in her voice is clear and, for a moment, he has to restrain the bubble of laughter, ugly and dark, that tries to rise from somewhere in his gut.

“It was.” He let her have that one for free. This time. The next one would count against her total number of allotted questions she’d won. “You could say that I have long prepared myself specifically  _ for _ that exact result.”

Dimitri is no fool, quite the opposite in everything related to strategy, battle, and of course some of the nuances of political maneuvering and diplomacy. Certain subtle cues, however, are completely beyond him and he is a lost cause on a good day when it comes to reading specific overtures and signs from women. Edelgard’s expression is one of those cues; she looks furious with him and he, for the life of him, cannot figure out  _ why _ the news should shock her when she herself was on the very same path.

He shifts his weight a bit to ease the ache building in his hip. “Your anger comes as a surprise to me, Edelgard,” he replies. It isn’t that he needs to tread carefully around her now or spare her feelings by lying. “Given the path you yourself walked, you must know that you faced a similar fate in the end?”

She mimes the number two with her own fingers, just as he had, and isn’t quite able to wipe the angry look off her face. “Similar yes, but your path is different than my own. I expected you to demand my life and have your vengeance, go on to unite Fodland under the Kingdom's banner and… do whatever it is that you had decided on in the after.”

“I had nothing concrete in mind.” Dimitri tells her. “Ideas, matters of some importance that would have been put into place once I was gone. But I was not truly… living with the future in mind. I lived for revenge. Against you, against those who opposed me, and anyone else who I decided would have been an enemy. Even my time at the Academy was solely to arm myself with the knowledge, tactics, and strength to carry it through.”

That strikes a particularly painful chord with the woman in front of him. Dimitri is not proud of the admittance, but as per their agreement,  _ full _ disclosure and honesty in regards to whatever question is asked of them is the only answer he is allowed to give her. He may have lost much of himself during the past five years, but he has always,  _ always _ tried his damndest to hold on to what little honor he has left.

Even if all that happened to be was adhering to whatever oath or word he gave. 

Dimitri replays her answer to his second question within his thoughts and looks for something he may have missed that would indicate a trick, a trap of  _ some kind _ that he can use to continue to mistrust her. He seizes upon the mention that her path, her way of thinking is somehow different. “You said yourself that this is revenge on the Church, on those who stood by and did nothing, and to free Fodlan from its influence. You entered the Academy for the very same purpose as I did. What is the difference between us?”

Edelgard is the one to look away this time. Her eyes go to the door he’s been watching throughout most of the difficult game they play and focus on it as though anticipating the Professor and Claude to return at a most inopportune, or perhaps fortuitous, moment. When no sign of either of them arise, she looses a sigh and allows her shoulders to slump. 

“By that reaction, it must have something to do with… what you experienced when you were taken back to Enbarr.” Dimitri responds after a moment. 

“They always refer to you as though you are nothing more than some feral beast with as much intelligence and foresight,” Edelgard muses, her tone sardonic. “I suppose none of them  _ were _ around to see the results of your exams from the Academy.”

Dimitri offers little more than a dark chuckle in return and awaits an actual answer out of her. 

The chuckle actually gains him something of a smile out of her. It’s a bitter one and she shakes her head after a moment. “It does have to do with the experiments I was put through.” She confirms. “I would, however, ask that you… please allow me to answer that question at a later time.”

“You would prefer Claude and the Professor to be present when you do so.” His tone is more neutral than he thought himself possible of in the moment. Part of him suspects she didn’t trust him and thought he would attack her in return. 

“No, actually, I would prefer neither of them know, but Claude may suspect or otherwise know already if he’s aware of the experiments that were performed on Lysithea.” She is bothered and it’s clear in both voice and the way her brow furrows inward. 

“Why the delay?”

“Selfishness, for the most part. And I  _ should _ claim that as your final question.” She responds with a mock scowl in his direction. “But, I won’t. Just to set the record straight, my reluctance is not out of fear that you or anyone else will respond violently, or that there will be some sort of retribution. It isn’t appropriate to answer. Not while the war is still ongoing and has yet to come to an official end.” 

The longer he watches her fumble through the explanation, half of one anyway, the worse his stomach churns. Whatever her reason for not wanting to discuss it in the here and now, it has enough significance for the future that she wants to delay it as much as possible. Not out of fear, or so she claims, but out of a sense of duty to the war not yet officially ended.

What answer could possibly change what they have already decided?

He watches her out of the corner of his eye as she plants her hands firmly in her lap. Her back is straight as an arrow shaft and twice as stiff and her gaze remains straight ahead on the door. If he had to hazard a guess, she was hoping for someone,  _ anyone _ to come through that door and interrupt their conversation for the next time they would be left alone together. He didn’t believe they would have another opportunity for some months to come, if not years, and rather than be cheered or relieved by the idea, he’s… conflicted.

Resentful, because it gets in the way of confirming whether or not he  _ can _ possibly learn to trust her by keeping watch over her every move and word to ensure she adheres to their agreed-upon terms. Irritated, because he doesn’t like the idea of being babysat as though he is utterly incapable of keeping himself in check. He doesn’t necessarily  _ blame _ anyone for not trusting  _ him _ currently, but it’s still irritating to know people doubt his ability to keep his word.

“Would you be willing to keep what I tell you from the Professor and Claude? At least until I’m ready to tell them.” Edelgard speaks after another long moment. She looks at Dimitri, her expression determined and eyes filled with anxiety. “And promise me you will  _ not _ allow what I tell you to alter your words or actions in the future; if you can do those two things…”

Dimitri inclines his head all of once in silent agreement. There is a familiar pressure in the air the likes of which he recognizes from the moment they had run into the Professor and Sir Jeralt at Remire Village, the moment in the Holy Tomb where Edelgard had been revealed as the Flame Emperor, and again when the monastery was attacked. A moment of tension that whispered of a path that, once chosen, cannot be taken back and that would decide the course of destiny once and for all. Whatever Edelgard is about to tell him will change a great deal. As before, Dimitri finds himself helpless to fight against the current of fate and so, for the moment, braces himself for the next wave to crash down upon his life.

“You asked me where the difference in our paths lie. You have  _ time _ , Dimitri. You have more than enough time to make mistakes, to rectify them, and to repent for the pain and lives you have taken along the way.” Edelgard says, picking and choosing her words  _ very _ carefully without looking at him. “As a result of the experiments, after what was done to me in the dungeons… I don’t share the luxury of time.”

There is a tense silence so thick, so  _ maddening _ he feels a bubble of laughter rising up in his chest.  _ Laughter _ . He doesn’t know why the inappropriate response, but it’s there and threatening to burst free as Edelgard falls silent. Her throat works against what he imagines is a lump the size and weight of half the blasted Empire and the final words fall, damning, from her lips in a husky whisper.

“I have five years left to live.”


	29. Trepidation Final (Edelgard x Dimitri)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard and Dimitri share a similar Luck stat.

_ I have five years to live _ .

The secret is out, spoken and aired into the world around them and she cannot take it back. She can’t erase it from his memory even if she wanted to. Even if she tries to laugh it off as a joke, to pass it off as a test to see if he’s still as gullible and naive as she believed him to be in the Academy (he’s a better actor than she anticipated, she had  _ no _ inkling that he had been planning his own death the entire duration of their time in Garreg Mach.) and leave it at that, he’ll still  _ know _ there’s a possibility she’d told him the truth. 

When had the truth become so difficult to tell?

Not even Hubert knew how little time she had left; if he had, this war would have escalated ten times over and she may not have had this opportunity. He may have even canceled the entire war, or placed it on hold, in favor of pursuing a path that would result in her living longer than the allotted time she had. Her retainer was nothing if unwaveringly dedicated to seeing her accomplish her dreams and goals without fail, and no matter what the cost-- unless it was her life.  _ That _ , while he understood and begrudgingly accepted the risk, was still unacceptable and to be avoided at all costs. 

Why had she told Dimitri, of all people? The Professor was an infinitely better option, as was Claude. The two of them were resourceful, practical-minded people who would understand where the priority truly lay-- the ending of the war, for starters, and a second war against the bastards who had experimented on Lysithea and herself-- and then… whatever could be salvaged after that. She didn’t  _ have _ any true ideas that she could come up with other than implementing as many reforms as she possibly could before hopefully finding a place to live her final days in peace and reflection.

Dimitri had no resources of use to her. He had no inkling of those who skulked about in the shadows and aided in the slaughter of his family and friends in Duscur. He could be pragmatic at times, had the potential to be a fair and just ruler of his people if he could tame that bloodthirst of his, and had a bleeding heart for the vulnerable and the weak. He’d always been soft in ways she had not been allowed to be. He’d been gentle and even meek back then. Unsure of himself. All this time, Dimitri has been wearing as much of a mask as she had for years on end and she was  _ still _ angry at herself for missing what should have been so clear to her. 

Dimitri also wasn’t saying a single damned thing and it took every ounce of self-control not to turn around and just shake him until he said something. She’d just revealed her greatest burden and secret and he was just  _ silent _ like it cost her nothing to admit. 

She turns her head to glare at him. She’s going to let him have it, Edelgard decides, and scold him for wasting what precious years he has at his disposal in search of revenge on her and others when he could be  _ happy _ and live a long, fulfilling life with family and friends and…

He’s looking at her with an understanding that sends her shoulders hunching up about her ears. That lone eye of his almost resembles the Professor’s gaze in the way he’s able to just look  _ straight through her. _ It’s making her weak and nauseous. It’s making her want to cry and she told herself she would never cry again-- the night before did  _ not _ count and no one else saw her do so. If they told her otherwise, she would challenge them to prove it. 

“What?” She’s defensive because there's something in his eyes that she doesn’t like and threatens to turn everything she’s been working into wasted effort.

He tears his gaze away from her as he responds. “It answers many of the questions I had; about why you said you never ‘had the time’ for small matters, why you kept yourself busy at all hours of the day and evening, why you never seemed to be at ease, and why you looked upon the rest of us with envy.” 

He noticed far more than she anticipated. Edelgard isn’t sure how to feel about that and just watches him. Dimitri was not known for subtlety and tact in several matters, but for him to have noticed so much, for him to put the pieces together the way he had, and the way his mouth tightened as he waited for her to say something... she really does like his mouth, now that she looks closer. What she saw of his hands the night before had also caught her attention and she’s more than a little sorry he has his gauntlets on. Who would have thought the same noble she’d had such a crush on, the one she’d called her first love, had been  _ him _ all along? 

Edelgard’s sick of the direction her thoughts continue turning. 

Now is  _ not _ the time to be drawn in by physical features or base urges; there’s a bedamned  _ war  _ out there that she’s started, that they’re still fighting, and she shouldn’t be studying the line of his jaw or the way his hair looks in the afternoon light. She shouldn’t be committing the shape and size of his hands to memory and mentally comparing them to Byleth’s, to Claude’s, and her own and wondering what they’d look like if she placed them palm to palm.

She shouldn’t be wondering what he looks like with his hair pulled away from his face.

But then again, absolutely  _ nothing  _ about the last twenty-four hours has gone according to plan or direction she had ever dreamed of. There is no control she can seize, no charted course that she can follow and plan ahead for in order to come out the victor. She is directionless and lost in a sea of chaos. There is no port in this storm, no visible lighthouse or anchor she can find and all she wants is to, even for a moment, just feel as though she  _ is _ firmly tethered in reality. Like she truly does exist as someone more than just the Emperor. 

But he has been her enemy all this time. She’s tried to have him killed on more than one occasion, to remove him from this world in order to further her own desires. He has no reason to trust her and even  _ less _ reason to even  _ consider _ …

There’s warm amusement in his chuckling and she startles out of her reverie at the sound. Dimitri’s watching her with chin in hand and her face heats beneath his stare. “You have the same look Felix used to get whenever he wanted something but couldn’t bring himself to ask.” 

She could reach out and hit him. It wouldn’t do a damned bit of good given the man’s strength and armor, but it would certainly make  _ her _ feel better. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She denies immediately. 

“If you say so.” The smug bastard replies just to piss her off.

“I do.” She counters firmly, allowing just a  _ hint _ of warning in her tone for him to drop it  _ or else _ . 

It takes her about ten minutes to figure out an excuse believable enough to sate her own stupid need to touch him and it’s about, of all things, an eyelash on his cheek. The look he gave her when she tells him it’s irritating her is the sort of long-suffering ‘ _ really? _ ’ she’s given many a time and she congratulated herself on managing to keep a serious face and  _ not _ let her cheeks redden. It’s a piss-poor excuse and she knows it, but it’s her story and by all that was sacred in this unholy land ruled by tyrannical church members and their long hated enemies? She was  _ sticking to it _ . 

Whether he believes her or is playing along to indulge her for the time being matters little to Edelgard, and she seizes the opportunity with both hands-- literally and figuratively-- to ground herself using him as her anchor. 

She removes the eye patch first. Once again, she sees the scar left behind and the slightly paler blue color compared to the uninjured one. One of her hands hovers over the area, thumb swiping away the nonexistent lash she spotted. His expression is more neutral than she would have liked, but he’s not avoiding her. He’s not leaning or smacking her away from him.

Edelgard risks it and lets her palms settle against either side of his face. His skin is a little dry and rough, especially around the cheekbones, from the dry winter air and his hair is coarser than she imagined it would be when she smoothes it out of his face. She’s not ever going to  _ tell _ him she thought about what his hair and skin might feel like. It’s as though her hands have a life of their own and she’s surprised at just how much of a difference his hair being pulled back is versus left to its current unkempt state. 

She’s mildly horrified at just how much she  _ likes _ touching him. 

It’s then she realizes how close she’s leaned in and the way his attention is firmly fixed on her face. She wants to ask him what he’s looking at,  _ why _ he’s looking at her like that, and is afraid to even try opening her mouth in fear of what might come out. She worries he’ll claim it as her final question and she’s not willing to risk that one precious thing for all of the other questions she has in that moment. The movement to one side catches her attention.  _ His _ hand reaches up and brushes a loose lock of white hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ear. His eyes slide away from whatever he was studying on her face and meet her own. They hold each other’s gaze for far too long and, as though drawn in by one another’s gravity, lean forward to close the distance between them.

She should stop.  _ He _ should stop. This wasn’t right, this was absolutely beyond the pale and should be stopped before they go too far and cross too many lines they can’t take back. She wets her lips with her tongue. She lowers her lashes and turns her head just a  _ little _ to one side to make it a little easier. 

Maybe just this  _ one _ indulgence...

“Huh, looks like Teach and I worried over nothing. Maybe we should come back a little later, say an hour or two?” 

Edelgard and Dimitri are on the opposite sides of the room in a matter of seconds at the sound of Claude’s voice and  _ refuse _ to look at one another.


	30. Fade Into The Dawn (Claude x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, Byleth and Claude return to Garreg Mach to break the news to Seteth. 
> 
> It goes exactly as well as you might think.

“That could have gone better.” 

Claude comments as he watches Seteth’s back vanish into the archbishop’s reception room. His ears are still ringing from the shouting match between the siblings. Not to mention the lecture slash rant he received from Seteth on how he should have known better as the Alliance leader, blah blah blah. It’s not like he can’t see where Seteth is coming from either; he’d be in the advisor’s place if he hadn’t seen and heard everything that had gone down with his own ears and eyes. 

Flayn shoots him a pointed look and gestures for them to take their leave, _ now _, before chasing after her ‘brother’ and vanishing as the door to the advisor’s office slams shut behind her. 

Talk about a total shutdown.

“It could have gone worse,” Byleth replies with a tired sigh and a rub of her temples. “Let’s not go _ too _ far, just in case.” 

“For round two? I dunno, Teach, I think I’ve had my fill of lectures for the next… let’s call it five years.” There’s a brief huff of laughter in response. He recognizes it from their Academy days as her response when she doesn’t feel it’s appropriate to laugh but finds whatever was said or done funny nonetheless. “But hey, if you’re trying to catch up? Be my guest, you can have my share too.”

She shakes her head at him, but he catches the way her lips curl into a smile as she passes by. 

\--

The monastery has seen better days by far and he winces at the damage done to the once peaceful, busy grounds. A lot of history has been lost as a result of the war, more than he can probably guess, and the faces of the few he’s seen are drawn and haggard, dark shadows beneath their eyes and a pinched expression he’s become all too familiar with. He wants to tell them why they’re there, that the war _ is _ coming to an end and it’s all over but the crying and the finer details. And the feast of celebration, can’t forget that, he’d make sure to throw one big enough for the history books to mark the day the five-year war came to an abrupt and peaceful end. 

Assuming they could pull off a peaceful ending, anyway. There was still the matter of the Archbishop left to worry about-- he suspected Edelgard had her somewhere in Enbarr proper-- and that whole detail about those who’d experimented on Lysithea and Edelgard, plotted the Tragedy of Duscur, and who the hell knew what else needs to be eliminated for the future of Fodlan, no, the _ world _. Fodlan alone wouldn’t be enough for people like that in his experience. 

He watches the way Byleth pauses, however briefly, at the empty triad of classrooms belonging to the former Three Houses. Her eyes trace the familiar blackboards and empty rows of tables and benches. The podium where she’d stood, or sat, and gave her lectures or brought in others as guests or specialists in their field to those interested. 

_ Too bad I can’t get Seteth to shut it long enough to tell _ him _ that’s why we’re really ending the war. We can’t agree with each other, most of the time, but we _ can _ agree that we want Teach to be happy. _ And Byleth’s happiness, at the moment anyway, happened to be tied to Garreg Mach and Fodlan. 

The selfish part of him still toyed with the idea of having an out, of taking her with him to Almyra if everything went to shit. She’d do well there and he could have an Almyran version of Garreg Mach set up for her. She’d prove herself worthy of respect in no time and he was almost sorry for wanting to inflict her on the nobility there. Almost. There’s no shortage of those he’d enjoy watching get what was coming to them and some of them wouldn’t make it out of _ that _ challenge alive. 

_ Hells, if we can’t get Seteth to back down, maybe all four of us can go back to Almyra. _ That was an interesting idea, one that wouldn’t likely work due to Edelgard and Dimitri being way too responsible and dedicated to their homeland. Still an option as far as he was concerned and one he’d held in reserve. Maybe taking them as political prisoners would help end the war? Seteth didn’t know his little secret, neither did the Archbishop at the time, so this might tip the scales in their favor. 

After giving it a good deal of thought, Claude’s come to realize her job as Professor was the first bit of actual stability and structure that she’s ever known. Sure, Jeralt’s presence was a constant for who knew how many years, but mercenary life always came with the chance one or both of them would never come back. That, as far as he’s concerned, isn’t stable in the slightest and probably part of why she changed so much in their brief time together five years ago. She had a chance to breathe and really start to open up instead of running on fumes and instinct. 

Stability, if one has the luxury of it, is a precious gift. 

“What do you miss the most, Teach?”

She gives him a brief look and turns back to the classrooms once more. “...the people.” 

He watches the way she squares her shoulders as she presses onward and continues tracing the ghosts of patrol circuits five years gone. “The people, huh.” Her students across the three houses, the other instructors and staff there at the monastery. Probably the Archbishop too, if he includes her as part of the broad spectrum of ‘people’. Claude’s not sure what hurts more; the loneliness he practically sees radiating off of her or the fact that five years have changed them all to the point he worries she won’t be able to recognize some of them.

Claude follows and wonders just how long he’ll spend chasing after her shadow.

\--

Their patrol of the monastery ends pretty much exactly where he expected it to: at the door to her personal quarters. 

Her room has been left untouched, as though she hasn’t been gone these last five years and war hasn’t been raging. Like there haven’t been bandits looting left and right. There’s a thick layer of dust they kick up when they enter the room. Hazy sunlight casts pale beams as it shines through the door and window. She goes to her desk first, fingers lingering briefly on the dusty surface before she opens a drawer and sifts through the papers beneath. A worn leather journal and pouch still remain and there’s the feeling of relief that radiates off of her to the point Claude winces. 

She tucks the pouch carefully into the small satchel she keeps with her and just… holds the journal. 

Claude struggles with curiosity and the sense he should give her a few moments alone. Whatever the journal may be, it’s intensely personal and important to her, and she might need a few moments to just… be alone for a bit. Respect and understanding win out and he pauses at the door. 

“Hey, Teach, I’ll be right back. I’m going to go check and see if my dorm’s still intact or if it got looted.” He had a few traps in there set up when he’d eventually left and was looking forward to seeing if he’d gotten anyone with them. 

She turns around at that, the journal still in hand. “Maybe I should come with you.” There’s worry there.

He gives her a grin. “I’ll be back in under an hour, promise. If anything goes wrong, I’ll make a big enough racket you’ll be there in a heartbeat. I might go raid the kitchen, see if there’s anything good we can snag for those two back in the hut as a treat if they’ve been on their best behavior.” 

Her brow furrows. “Are you sure?”

“Hey, I’ve got this. Remember; I’m not the one who got thrown halfway across the room for making poor life choices.” Claude reminds her.

“This time.” She replies with a lift of her eyebrow.

“Hey, I thought we agreed we were going to forget about that little incident.” 

She gives him that same little huff of laughter and waves him off. “One hour.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He offers an exaggerated salute that earns him a shake of her head and a half-smile in return and leaves her to have her moment in peace. They’ve had many in the last five years, she hasn’t had the chance yet.

Claude’s easy smile fades as he sets his sights on the second floor of the Academy, more specifically, to the door that’d been slammed in their faces sometime earlier. _ Now then, I have a lecture for _ you _ about responsibility, Seteth, and you're not going to like what I have to say. _


	31. Fade Into The Dawn 2 (Claude x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercenary life is hard, okay, no judging.

It doesn’t go over any better the second time around, but Claude will savor the look of sheer disbelief and shock in Seteth’s face for years to come. 

_ This whole being the heir to a foreign throne might be my best scheme yet. _ He chuckles as he remembers the way Seteth tried to call his bluff and Flayn stiffened from head to toe as she recognized the proof he offered. Either way, hearing the sharp note in the girl’s voice when she turned and backed his claim and Seteth’s incredulous expression had been more fun than he’d been counting on. 

It hadn’t done a damn thing to make the man any less stubborn and bull-headed about the conversation they’d had immediately after. But it was still fun in the self-serving and self-gratifying way. They weren’t being thrown out of the monastery, yet, but neither were they fully welcome either. He’d told Seteth he’d be back with the Professor, Rhea’s appointed _ successor _ as he’d oh-so-kindly reminded the man, in a few hours to revisit their discussion. 

Claude was just as stubborn as Seteth and hadn’t gained his reputation as a strategic genius for nothing over the last few years. 

_ You want the Archbishop back, I want the war ended. We both win if we just _ listen _ to one another and work things out. _It was the listening that posed the biggest challenge so far. The compromise and following negotiations, as they had initially between the three of them, were going to be the biggest headache in the hours or days after. 

He climbs the stairs to the Goddess Tower out of habit. Whenever he wanted to do any real thinking, he’d taken to going as high as possible to sit and think, to see beyond the rooftops and mortal vision to the bigger picture that lay beyond. His wyvern waited in the stables, happily munching on some gamey kitchen scraps that wouldn’t do human stomachs any good, but made great fodder for the draconic beasts with guts of steel. Worst case scenario, he’d take Byleth and torch something insignificant but big enough to make them choose between pursuing them or salvaging the monastery.

What is he supposed to do from there? How will Seteth react to the information they have on the Empire’s motivations and Edelgard’s… everything? He already knows the man won’t respond kindly to the notion he owes Edelgard and the rest of the Academy students apologies. He _ definitely _ doesn’t see Rhea’s advisor being anywhere near convinced that a greater enemy is at play and that Edelgard’s been manipulated and fed a combination of truth and lies. Claude sighs as he scratches the back of his head. 

_ Maybe I can twist Sir Jeralt’s death a little? Make them responsible for failing to investigate Monica’s disappearance and the change of behavior in several key members of the Church. Their inaction and refusal to get involved… _

“Apple for your thoughts.” Byleth’s voice interrupts his fourth strategy simulation-- this one complete with little bits of twigs and stone being lined up in formation in front of him since the last three relied solely on thinly veiled threats and careful manipulation of his suspicions regarding Flayn, Rhea, and Seteth’s true origins-- and Claude jumps at the sound of her voice. A swipe of his hand quickly erases the progress he’s made as she approaches. He watches her eyes narrow, pupils thinning as they adjust from the shadows to the sunlight. She’s so pale in comparison to his own deeply tanned skin it’s laughable. She almost could be a ghost, especially when she moves so damned quietly. 

_Probably one of the reasons they called her the Ashen Demon. _He thinks as she stops right beside him and looks outside. Claude’s seen the _other_ reason for the nickname a few times on the battlefield during their Academy days. Some nights he’s seen her in Ashen Demon mode in his dreams. She’s always covered in blood, Sword of the Creator in hand, and vanishes without fail beneath a never-ending tide of enemies. She’s as terrifyingly competent there as she is in reality, but he’s never been able to get to her in time before she’s overcome and vanishes entirely. 

Every time he’s woken from that particular dream, he renews his vow to find her and promises himself, and her, that he’ll never let that particular scenario happen. 

He’s no Edelgard or Dimitri; raw, brute strength is _ not _ his forte. Neither is going around tanking hits in a suit of armor. He’s a little too quick, a little too instinctive in his reflexes to tolerate being a sitting duck in the battlefield. His eyesight and ability to analyze and plan on the run make him valuable on and off the field, so he went for the traditional role many in Almyran nobility chose; aerial combat with a particularly crafty beast. 

Byleth offers him the aforementioned fruit and awaits an answer.

“Flayn sent these along with the apples.” She lifts up a pair of mugs and a ceramic container tightly corked. He accepts both fruit and ceramic mug and listens to the sound of her teeth crunching into apple flesh. The mug is set to the side, for now, and his apple tossed from hand to hand as he tries to figure out what to tell her about his plans for Seteth.

His eyes light up as the sharp fragrance of his favorite tea billows up along with the steam from the corked container. Points for Flayn pulling the good old fashioned hospitality bribe, though he’d tell her later that it’d would work a lot better if it came with promising news. “I might have to sneak her away from Seteth to thank her properly. You think she’d enjoy a ride on a wyvern?”

“Possible.” Byleth is noncommittal in her response and finishes off the last of the apple, core and all. 

Claude stares at her in shock. _ Maybe she’s just _ really _ hungry. That’s not exactly normal. _ “Uhh, Teach? Please tell me you didn’t eat the _ entire _ thing.” 

She turns her head and blinks owlishly at him. “...you’re not supposed to?”

Claude can do nothing but gawk. “Uh, no. No you aren’t.”

There’s the faintest hint of pink along her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. “Why not? Isn’t it just a waste otherwise?”

He’s trying not to laugh at how much she sounds like Leonie in that moment. Even the notorious skin-flint mercenary-wannabe that his fellow Housemate was for wouldn’t go _ this _ far to save a few coins. “Don't tell me; you eat the heads, fins, tails, and bones off the fish too? 

“The heads and tails were usually boiled down, sometimes the bones if the fish were big eno- Claude, why are you laughing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays, folks! Whether you celebrate, don't celebrate, or just enjoy a bit of a break this time of year, my thoughts and warm wishes to you all! Hopefully I'll be able to update before the new year and get back on a regular updating schedule. 
> 
> Love and peace to you all,
> 
> Kira


	32. Fade Into The Dawn 3 (Claude x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting Man enjoys local scenery with Local Mercenary. Interruptions at 11.

“I needed that.” Claude tells her after he’s managed to calm himself down. 

After all was said and done, his stomach and sides are sore but his mood a good deal lighter. He’s no sooner settled down than the mental image of her over a cauldron bubbling full of fish heads and tails with an intensely concentrated look on her face threatens to set him off all over again. With the practiced ease of one who learns the hard way about keeping a poker face even in the midst of trickery, Claude thinks of any number of things that will keep him from laughing all over again.

As though she’s fully aware of his current predicament, Byleth sips from the steaming mug in her hands and has gone back to gazing across the monastery grounds. 

It’s still cold as it can be, traces of snow visible across the stone everywhere they looked, and the wind has a bite to it as it rushes through. 

“So Flayn sent the apples and tea along with you, which means we’re not being thrown out of Garreg Mach or branded as traitors?” He tops off her mug before refilling his own.  _ Does Teach even have a favorite type of tea? She drinks just about everything from what I found out from the Academy days. _

“I wouldn’t go that far. Flayn is still ‘in discussion’ with Seteth and sent me to make sure you weren’t up to anything that would, as she put it, ‘ turn his hair white.’” Byleth replies. 

Now  _ that _ was an interesting comment for the normally sweet-tempered girl to make. Claude pretends to be wounded by Flayn’s mistrust and Seteth’s well-warranted concern. “Aww, Teach, they wound me; it’s like-”

“They’re well aware of your reputation?” The little curve of her lips deepens. “How many lectures did you go through during your Academy days?”

The second question isn’t going to be answered even on threat of pain or death. ‘Enough’ is about as close as he’s going to come to honesty and he’s not even willing to part with that much. Claude considers it for all of about half a second before lifting an eyebrow in her direction and trying,  _ failing _ , to hide the smile in his voice. “You really think  _ I _ could make his hair white?”

She gives him a pointed look that says he’d better not if he knows what’s good for him. “We’ll just say I wouldn’t bet against the notion.”

Claude makes a mental note to find the perfect opportunity to prove himself worthy of her faith. “Speaking of bets, what’s the verdict? You think we’ll be arrested or escorted with a full guard back to Seteth?”

Byleth sighs unhappily and traces some obscure pattern with the tip of her finger along the bumpy surface of her mug. “We’re on standby until Flayn, Seteth, or one of the Knights comes to retrieve us as far as I’m aware.” 

_ Ouch. _ He winces internally at the number of outcomes that little tidbit brings to mind. “You sound about as thrilled about that as I am about the idea of having to pass judgment on a petty quarrel between two nobles.” 

“Even less, given my experience in doing just that.” Byleth admits. “But, I understand where Seteth is coming from, I don’t know that I would be amicable to what we’re proposing if our positions were reversed.”

Now  _ that _ was a loaded statement if he’s ever heard one. Claude leans back and folds his arms behind his head. Might as well get as comfortable as he can since they’re gonna be there a while. He’s in good company, dearly _ missed _ company at that, and there’s no small part of him feeling just a little smug that he gets her alone after five years of separation. “You don’t trust Edelgard to keep her word?”

“Mm.” A noncommittal noise as she pours more tea into her mug. 

He turns his head with a lift of his eyebrow. “Seriously?” The Empress would be devastated if she heard that. 

“Something about her story doesn’t add up.” Byleth says after a time. “I don’t know if it’s her withholding information or not… having the information the Archbishop has.” 

It’s like five years ago all over again. She’s got his full attention and every word she says is filled with importance and mystery all at the same time. She’s the greatest puzzle he’ll ever come into contact with and he has  _ missed _ having her around. He watches the way the sun makes her hair and skin glow. How her profile is noble, proud, and yet  _ young _ all at once. She is timeless and ancient, she’s young and lost like the rest of them. 

A mystery wrapped in a puzzle wrapped in a secure notion of who and what she stands for. 

He wonders if she’s going over the information she overheard during their ‘meeting’ the night before as well as matching up what she knew from five years ago before she speaks. 

“Her belief regarding the church’s involvement in what was done to her and others bothers me.” She shakes her head again, brow furrowing down as she drapes one arm over her knee. “The Archbishop and Seteth, the latter in particular, were frantic when Flayn went missing. There was a comment about  _ her _ blood being particularly dangerous as well that suggests…”

He sees where she’s going with that. “That suggests they’d rather she never fall into the hands of those who might use that blood for nefarious means.” And that it’s happened to her in the past, more importantly. “So they’d never condone the whole experimentation and torture thing that Edelgard and Lysithea went through.” 

She nods. “Exactly. If anything, it’s anathema to what the Archbishop believes in.”

“What about Rhea’s stance on the whole ‘worthy versus unworthy’ bloodline bit? Think maybe that would motivate her to allow such a thing if it meant securing any bloodlines at risk of fading out?” He points out the obvious loophole in her argument. From where he’s standing, the Archbishop is keen on keeping the Crest system in place and believes in it like nothing else with the exception of the Goddess. 

“No. She seems…” she searches for the right words. “to believe that the Crests are bestowed only on those the Goddess favors. Minor or Major, it doesn’t seem to matter to her the strength of the Crest so much as it is the  _ existence _ of it.”

Still didn’t answer why she was so hellbent on preserving the Crests and keeping them alive.

But, Byleth had a point; if a bloodline manifesting a Crest wasn’t a surefire thing, then it had to be bestowed by divine grace and all that. Strong or weak, Major or Minor… Rhea didn’t seem to care as much about the strength of said Crest so much as they  _ have _ one. And, as she’s said before, Seteth doesn’t seem to like or care for the Crest system as much as the Archbishop herself happens to. 

“If that’s the case… why go to war at all?”

Byleth doesn’t answer and Claude doesn’t push her, yet, for an answer as the two of them watch the shadows lengthen on the ground below. 

\--

Claude changes the subject sometime later to something a little more light-hearted. Of course, as innocent as his questions are, it’s also to try and get into Byleth’s head and learn more about how she thinks and views the world around her. The more he knows how she thinks, the better he can strategize and make sure they’re both exactly where he wants them to be.

Dimitri and Edelgard will get their turn to play twenty questions with him later too, he’s going to make damned sure of  _ that _ . But he’s been playing an entirely different game with Edelgard as it is these last five years and Dimitri’s been off the radar so long he needs time to get to know him all over again that he’s not without ideas.

“We’ve got Edelgard representing fire, Dimitri’s water,” Claude is deliberately leaving himself for last. It’s a strategy, depending on what she says, he can take full advantage of it in at least three different ways. “What does that make Seteth, given he’s the leader at the moment?”

“Earth.” Byleth doesn’t hesitate. “If there were  _ ever _ someone who represented the element of Earth, it’s him.”

The answer gets a laugh out of him and a smile out of Byleth in response. 

“And you say  _ I’m _ the one who’d give Seteth white hair.” He teases. He leans over and tops off her mug with the last of the tea. A tilt of his head gives him an  _ excellent _ view of her face from an angle not many get to see it from. 

As he looks at her, he can’t help but wonder what she’d look like in traditional Almyran clothing. Would the clothing of nobility suit her? That of the common folk? Neither or both? He’s not seen her in anything other than her standard black and grey outfit, not counting the haphazardly stitched together cloak thing they did the night before, and the urge to sic Hilda and some of the other ladies on her for a well-intentioned shopping trip is tempting. 

“Claude?” Like her gaze, her voice is unwavering as she addresses him for the second time-- he hadn’t heard her the first time. There’s that sense of distance again; like if he doesn’t find a way to tie her down, she’ll keep rising further and further out of his reach and disappear again. 

One corner of his mouth curves up.  _ Let’s see.. _ . “I saved the best for last; what element am I?”

“Wind.” Like with Seteth, she doesn’t have to think about it the way she had with Edelgard and Dimitri. She  _ knows _ and there’s something about the confidence in her answer that thrills him. 

“Wind?” Multiple questions in a single word.

“You’re elusive.” She says after a moment, her voice quieter than before. “Any attempts to control or restrain you fail.”

Claude’s hand comes to rest against the cold curve of her cheek. Tension, expectation building between them with an unspoken question and an equally unoffered answer. Oh, the  _ attraction _ and interest are definitely there, he’d be a fool not to have seen the spark in her eyes and the way her eyes would linger a little  _ too _ long on some areas of his body the same way he knows she’s caught  _ him _ doing the same. 

There’s the faintest brush of his lips against hers. “Have you tried?”

Her lips are a little dry and chapped against and it doesn’t take him much in the way of coaxing to get her to open her mouth. A faint sweetness lingering from the apples she’d eaten earlier and the sharp pine from the tea mingle together. Her fingers are cold and spark little fires against his skin as she settles her hand against his face in kind. His hand slides from her cheek to cradle the back of her head. Her free hand settles against his shoulder.

His senses focus solely on the woman in front of him and commit the details to memory. The cold, calloused fingers against his skin and the way they feel going through his hair. The sound of the little hitch in her throat when he breaks off to kiss along her jaw. He’s waited years for this and part of him is just waiting for someone to kick down his door and wake him up for the umpteenth time for some strategy meeting or another.

But the woman beneath his hands and mouth isn’t a figment of his imagination or a dream conjured by longing and raging hormones; she’s flesh and blood and  _ there _ . 

He stops nibbling on her ear long enough to whisper a suggestion. Her fingers dig into his shoulder and she nods in response. Claude grins and prepares to help her up as soon as he stands and regains his balance. 

“There you are, I have been looking everywhere in the monastery for- oh my goodness!” 

Both of them freeze, Claude lifts his head just enough to see Flayn, her green eyes round and wide and a little ‘o’ of surprise on her face as she looks from him to Byleth and back again. He can  _ feel _ the blood rush to his face, and away from other areas, and tries to find the words to smooth things over  _ before _ they’re about to get yet another lecture from Seteth when he finds out.

“Flayn-”

The surprise disappears, leaving a particularly brilliant blush on Flayn’s fair face, and the girl hastily offers a formal bow of apology. “I shall inform my brother you will be delayed. Please, do accept my heartfelt apology for my careless interruption of your dalliance!” and dashes down the stairs before he has the chance to stop her. 

Claude groans and drops his head down against Byleth’s shoulder.

"We're in for a lecture, aren't we?"

Byleth's hand gently pats his head in response and, wisely, says nothing.


	33. Fade Into The Dawn Final (Claude x F!Byleth)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visiting Noble From Another Land Can't Catch A Break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a bit of a dilemma here, folks. Should I take the last several chapters and throw 'em into a new fic to keep this crazy self-indulgent bullshit going? Or should I just keep going? (Everything from Save Me to Fade Into The Dawn would be moved/placed into a new fic to keep Aegis a one-shot/focused on the snowstorm/blanket scenario with varying levels of romance, cute moments, hilarity, etc?) 
> 
> Let me know what you think, please!

“I’m positive that was a record even for one of Seteth’s infamous lectures,” Claude says as the two of them make it down the last set of stairs from the second floor. In true form, his hands are folded behind his head as he follows Byleth through the halls to the outdoors. 

“I imagine it would have been shorter if not for your ‘pass the time’ comment.” The Professor responds so dryly he’s tempted to ask if she needs some water. 

If nothing else, Claude is simply shameless and offers an awkward looking shrug. “Hey, he asked what we were doing, I gave him a simple and honest answer. It’s not my fault that he can’t contain his reaction to the truth.”

“You made him _blush_, Claude.” 

“I know, I’m pretty proud of tha-  _ ow _ ! That’s cold!” He’s caught off guard by the faceful of snow out of nowhere and splutters. 

She has a second snowball in hand and eyes him speculatively.

Claude’s eyes narrow in response he brushes the remnants of snow out of his thin beard and slowly lowers his hands to his sides. He’s already taking stock of what his memory of her skill five years ago was and comparing it to what little information he has of her current skill set. 

“You know, Teach,” he comments in a completely harmless, conversational manner meant to lower her guard. “It’s really not wise to pick a fight with someone who’s specialty lies in ranged weaponry.”

Her response is a particularly wicked glimmer in her eyes and a pair of snowballs-- she’d split the one in her hand into two when he wasn’t paying attention-- lobbed one after another. The first misses and the second stings his ear. He hisses in response, wipes his ear, and ducks down to scoop up a pile of snow himself. 

“I tried to warn you.” He throws the first, ducking down the moment it leaves his hands to grab another handful. His snowballs are not large by any means, quite the opposite. But they’re quick to make and even quicker to hurl at his intended target as he chases her across the courtyard. 

For a little while, he’s able to forget they’re in the middle of a war. 

He’s able to set aside the fact that there are two highly anxious, highly damaged people who await word from them an hour or two’s flight from the monastery. That they’re waiting to see whether or not the war will be resolved easily and relatively bloodlessly. Or if the three of them-- four of them-- are going to team up as one against the place that had once served as something close to “home”. He doesn’t have to worry about the fate of the Alliance, the Kingdom, or the Empire. He isn’t worrying about Fodlan’s future or what it means for Almyra or what decision he makes is going to do in the far-flung future.

His world, for the moment, is centered on a black and grey shrouded figure with bright green hair and brighter eyes and cold-pinkened cheeks who keeps throwing snowballs at him like she has any idea what she’s doing. She’s particularly good at managing to get him in and around the collar of his coat and that snow is  _ cold _ . He doesn’t care about the people staring at them as though they’ve lost their minds within the monastery, he doesn’t care about how it looks to have  _ the _ Leader of the Alliance acting like a foolish child, and he  _ definitely _ doesn’t care that he’s all but asking for a cold by getting soaked to the skin. 

Their game continues on for quite some time; she’s nimble enough to give him a challenge without being utterly impossible to counter. He figures out a way to manipulate her movements and herds her in the direction of a snowdrift just off the back stairway. He sacrifices his dignity to a snowball directly on the chin in order to hit her high with one in return. She's caught off guard with a load of snow to the brow and that's when he makes his move.

Byleth is busy wiping the snow out of her eyes when she’s tackled  _ off _ the stair entirely and lands back first deep into the snowdrift. It’s  _ cold  _ and she finds her hands are pinned above her head by the wrists. Claude is surprisingly heavy and the shadows make his smug green eyes look all the brighter.

"That, Teach, is strategy in motion."

"I can't believe you can say that line with a straight face." She retorts and tests the hold on her wrists. "How long have you been practicing that one in the mirror?"

He squeezes her wrists in response, a gentle but firm warning that he's not quite done claiming victory yet. The grin that flashes across his face is telling. "A while."

Claude leans down to claim his prize. Their lips barely brush before the world goes dark and  _ cold _ . There are muffled shouts they can hear as Claude’s forehead knocks against Byleth’s. He groans in sheer frustration. “Someone just dropped an entire load of snow on top of us, didn’t they?”

“It was Seteth.” Byleth confirms solemnly. There's a suspicious glint he thinks he sees in her eyes that makes him think his dear Teach finds this situation infinitely more amusing than he does. He'd be willing to bet the entire treasury of House Gloucester on that.  


Claude groans again and vows, there and then, that he is going to get revenge on the stern advisor if it’s the last thing he does.

\--

"No sign of a body being dragged out and buried. So either they've killed each other in there, they're both sulking out in the woods somewhere, or nothing actually happened." Claude comments as they find a safe place to land. Byleth's arms are off his waist, much to his displeasure, and she vaults off the white wyvern's back like a natural-born Almyran; landing and all.

"Show off." He calls after her, grinning, and does the same thing a few moments later.

A few softly spoken words and a firm rub against the great beast's muzzle later and Claude helps the Professor remove the goods from the saddlebags secured to the wyvern's tack via a series of straps and buckles. There's a good deal more than he initially thought, thanks to Flayn and the Professor both, and he feels the night is going to go by a lot quicker than the last one did. Less stressful too.

They divide the goods between them equally, another few words of praise and with a solid scritch around the base of the wyvern's antlers later, Claude sends his other dearest friend off with a slap to the shoulder. More intelligent than a horse, even the ones brought up specifically for the battlefield, and with sharper claws and teeth to boot, he liked the hardy nature of the draconic beasts. During the last five years, Claude's especially come to appreciate their adaptability to the extreme temperatures of the high mountains, deserts, and the unpredictable plains from his homeland.

Byleth watches her leave with a little half-smile on her lips until she vanishes from sight. She sees Claude watching her in the next moment, tilts her head a little to one side in unspoken inquiry, and watches him smile, shake his head, and head for the door of their shelter. After all was said and done, she'd have to get him alone to finish what they'd started-- twice-- and help the poor leader of the Alliance out with some of that frustration of his.

Without interference this time.

Claude's the one with a hand free and pushes the unlocked door open. It takes a brief moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light within the room itself before a sharp grin crosses his features at what he sees. If he can't have a moment alone with Teach to have a little fun... well, these two troublemakers sure as hell aren't getting any of the fun either.

Well, not without him involved in some way, anyway.

"Huh, looks like Teach and I worried over nothing." He's aware of Byleth's presence at his shoulder and feels her use him as a brace as she stands on tiptoe to peer inside. "Maybe we should come back a little later, say... an hour or two?"

The two of them are on the opposite sides of the room in a matter of seconds, he's honestly impressed and never knew the two heavily armored leaders could move that fast and refuse to look at each other. He and Byleth enter the room, close the door, and begin setting the goods to one side for later divvying. 

Edelgard and Dimitri are awfully quiet. 

“So,” Claude breaks the silence a little  _ too _ cheerfully. “You want the good news or the bad news?”

“Good.” Edelgard replies a little too hastily.

“War’s over.”

Dimitri speaks up in a voice Claude finds a little  _ too _ gruff to be his normal voice. “The bad?”

“Seteth’s working on the ultimate lecture along with some stipulations. We meet him in a week’s time to settle the details and get the announcement ready for all three of our respective territories.”

“...Seteth gets to prepare a lecture for an entire  _ week _ ?” Edelgard and Dimitri have mutual expressions of dismay on their faces. 

This is a lot more fun than Claude anticipated. “Ooh yeah, you should’ve heard him go off on Teach and I. I thought we were going to be there the rest of the night.”

“...worse than Sylvain.” Dimitri mutters darkly to no one in particular. Edelgard gives the blond warrior a sideways look. There’s a moment Claude’s convinced that the Empress is going to inquire further about the notorious womanizer from Faerghus and his past lectures from Seteth before she shakes her head and chooses against it.

Claude is oddly disappointed by this. 

Byleth is busy sorting through the packs they’d been given when she replies. “The week gives him time to speak with the Knights and make proper arrangements for our return.”

“Did he say why it would take so long?” Edelgard presses for a better answer, one that makes more sense than this waiting business.

Their teacher shrugs. “He has more pressing matters.”  _ That _ gets a look from all three of them.

“Professor, what could possibly be more important than ending the  _ war _ ?” Edelgard manages to ask without being rude. For the most part. There is a sharpness in her tone that implies she’s biting back harsher words. 

Byleth points to the window to the outside. “A series of storms-- and no, I don’t know how he knows they’re coming. He wants to make sure the monastery is as secure as possible against the snow and cold for those who live there.”

“Will we be staying here?” Dimitri inquired, polite but tense as he eyes the cramped area in dismay. He’s slept in and around worse and among even more treacherous company these last five years, but… 

“For tonight.” Byleth confirms with a nod. “We’re to report back to Garreg Mach tomorrow. He expects us no later than early evening.” 

Dimitri and Edelgard exchange a confused look. The latter of which is the more comfortable of the two in speaking up. “I thought you said we were meeting him in a week?”

Claude grins in return. “We’re meeting him  _ officially _ in a week.”

“And tomorrow?” Edelgard is understandably tense.

He offers an open-palmed shrug as though there’s nothing they can do. “Tomorrow we’re just three lost, lonely travelers who got picked up by a warm-hearted Professor from the former Officers Academy and taken back to the one place they could think of to seek shelter from the storm.”

“Edelgard.” Byleth’s voice breaks the growing tension in the air. Light green eyes reflect the stern face of the woman in front of her. “Where are Hubert and the rest of the Black Eagles who sided with you?”

“Back in Adrestia.”  _ I think. _ The latter part is unspoken but clear in her eyes for a moment before her notorious composure resettles on her face. “If need be, I can send a message.”

“Let’s do that in the morning then.” A pause. “I’ll go with you to meet them.” 

She looks at Claude. “Have you already sent word to Hilda, Lorenz, and the rest of the Golden Deer?”

“That’s why we were waiting for Halide.” He replies and heads over to help her unpack the bags and lifts an eyebrow at the growing stack of wrapped packages. “...did Flayn think we were starving or something?”

“That was Seteth’s doing.” Byleth corrects the assumption with a shake of her head. “You can ask him why he loaded the packs the way he did, I’ll watch.”

“Chicken.” He replies.

Byleth sends him a sideways look. “Strategy in motion.” 

“Hey!”

“What about those loyal to Faerghus?” Edelgard is the one that asks, watching the way Byleth and Claude act with an ease between them that both hurts to watch and reminds her, a little, of the rapport between herself and Dimitri from earlier. 

Dimitri is silent and that catches everyone’s attention.

Edelgard can’t breathe. Panic rises as she runs through the mental tally of the names of those she’s received put to death after Cordelia’s take over.  _ No. I would have… I  _ know _ I would have heard of several of their deaths from Dorothea.  _ The songstress had connections in and out of the Empire even after breaking from the monastery and hadn’t mentioned anyone they’d known from Faerghus as one of them. She’d promised to let her know if they met, and killed, anyone from the monastery on the battlefield.

Hubert too; she’d made him swear it on penalty of removing him from his position. 

Cornelia, however,  _ had _ lied about Dimitri, however, and that would prove to be fatal for her in due time. She’s not disappointed in the mage, however. Quite the opposite. If she had succeeded, well, this would be an entirely different series of conversations as well as an undesirable outcome. 

“Dimitri?” Byleth’s voice is a gentle prompt.

He studiously avoids looking at any of them when he answers. “I do not know.”

Claude opens his mouth to press further, Byleth lifts a hand to stop him. The universal sign to wait before she lowers it back to her side.  _ Give him time _ , the unspoken words hang heavily in the air as she keeps her eyes firmly fixed on Dimitri’s pale face. 

“I have not spoken or interacted with any of them these last five years. Who lives, who has fallen… neither is known to me.

_ Did you hide from your own allies out of fear I would find you through them? Or were you so broken that you could not trust even those who pledged their lives for your sake? _ All this time she had believed him dead or hiding among those who’d sworn fealty to him. She never thought he would eschew…

His eye flicks to Byleth and back down. “...I have not seen their visages nor heard their voices among the number that haunt me. Perhaps they still live even now.”

Edelgard and Claude exchange a confused look. The voices that haunt him? The visages of the fallen? Both of them look to their Professor, who hadn’t moved an inch or changed expression during the entire exchange. What could Dimitri mean by that? He’d mentioned it before, now that Edelgard thinks about it. She’d always chalked it up to his prattling about revenge and tuned the rest of the ranting out for being dull and repetitive. 

Did… did Dimitri truly have the ability to hear, and see, the dead?

“Why don’t Halide and I take Dimitri tomorrow morning and see who we can get a message to? We can gather some information along the way and meet you back here to coordinate our next move.” Claude offers after a moment to collect his thoughts.  _ In all honesty, the less time Dimitri has to sit alone and think, the better at this point. I don’t know about the whole seeing and speaking with the dead thing, but he’s not who he used to be, and something is  _ definitely _ not right with him. _

Dimitri glances his way. “...Halide?” His mispronunciation of the word makes Claude internally wince, but the Faerghus born noble is showing interest instead of retreating further into himself.

He’ll take whatever he can get. “Halide’s my wyvern, you ever ride one of those, Your Highness?”

A shake of his head.

Claude grins. “You’re in for a treat; flying is  _ much _ more fun than riding a horse.”

Dimitri isn’t sure whether or not he doubts Claude’s intentions or is more interested in the idea of something entirely new. Either way, it does sound, regrettably, like a better option than sitting here and doing nothing but wait. “It will be done then, I am grateful for your offer, Claude.”

“Thank me later.” He replies a little  _ too _ cheerfully.

Halide was going to have  _ the _ most fun tomorrow.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Metanoia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22534861) by [Kireon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kireon/pseuds/Kireon)


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